


As You Were

by Er0sennin



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-01-30 11:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Er0sennin/pseuds/Er0sennin
Summary: Corporal Olivia Becker is a decorated war hero from the past, thrust into the unforgiving future of post-war Boston against her will. Her husband is dead and her son is out there, somewhere. With nothing but her faithful rifle and an unwavering lust for revenge, she sets out to reclaim what is hers... with a little help from a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel.**ON HIATUS***
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 33





	1. Into The Wild

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I’ve been working on this off and on for a year and I've finally decided to post it. Please clap. 
> 
> I changed the narrative around a little bit. As we all know, the dynamic of Nora and Nate is that Nora went to law school and Nate was ex-military. I decided to flip that around because hey, why not. I hope that doesn’t bother anyone too much. This story will alternate between Olivia's past and present. The vignettes into her past won't be in chronological order. 
> 
> This will be a pro-BoS storyline. I may not support every view that the BoS holds in this game but I do love me some Paladin Danse. Enjoy! Please review and let me know what I need to work on.

#### Anchorage, Alaska.  
**December 20th, 2066.**  
  


The ship rocked back and forth against the turbulent ocean, the frigid water slipping up every now and again to nip at the hull. Olivia peered over the edge and swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze wandering to the icy shores that awaited her platoon. Alaska. A wide expanse of rolling hills and jagged mountaintops buried beneath thick layers of snow, speckled with clusters of pine trees. Such beautiful scenery was overshadowed by the reason behind their arrival.

  
She nervously fiddled with the rifle in her lap, tracing an index finger over the slender neck and down to the stock. It’d just had a fresh tune up, with a brand new suppressor attached to the barrel, and she stared down at it with prideful grin.

She’d spent half the night up with it making sure it was just right. She’d break it down, clean it, oil it, and rebuild it, only to break it down again to add various modifications. Wash, rinse, and repeat. She wanted to brush it off as just being a meticulous soldier but the reality was she was just trying to keep busy. If she was busy, she wouldn’t have time to think about anything except the weapon beneath her grime laden fingertips. But this time, no amount of crafting could stifle the growing dread in the pit of her stomach.

She was going to war.

They’d gotten the order earlier in the week that they’d be shipping out to Alaska. Chinese troops had infiltrated Anchorage and they were sending as much manpower as they could. Boots on the ground, her commander had said with overbearing patriotism. She’d just grit her teeth through the majority of the briefing and tried to ignore her fellow soldier’s palpable enthusiasm. There were talks of new Power Armor suits awaiting their arrival, and how they were going to ‘kick some Red Army asses’ with them.

Only a few solemn faces in the room had reflected her own.

And now as she looked across command deck, she saw so many solemn faces.

A gust of wind struck her and she sucked in a sharp breath, the icy air burning her nose and lungs. She pulled the edge of her shemagh over her face and shivered, her eyes never leaving the shoreline. It wasn’t long before the shore was only a few hundred yards away and she felt her heart leap into her throat.

  
Tensions had been growing with China for a while now, but she’d not foreseen war as an inevitability when she enlisted with the U.S. Marines. All she’d wanted was structure and a feeling of belonging—something that she’d never had growing up. Only a year in, she was a Private with a promising future in ground combat. The military was an environment she thrived in and it showed.

But now, as the boat breached shallow waters of Anchorage, she felt regret tugging at her chest. The urge to jump into the freezing water and swim as far away as she could was overwhelming. The boat lurched as it prepared to dock, her platoon standing in unison and at the ready. She urged her body to do the same but found she was locked in place. There was some disconnect between her brain and her limbs and she began to panic.

The private next to her tugged on her sleeve, trying to pull her up. “Come on, Saint. Don’t just sit there.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivia said through chattering teeth. “I… I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” The private looked at her incredulously and pulled on her sleeve again. “The Corporal is gonna be pissed if he sees you.”

Olivia’s grip tightened on her rifle and she swallowed hard. She took a few struggling breaths and shakily rose to her feet, her legs wobbling like jello. Their Corporal stood at the hull and began the typical morale-building speech, but it was hard for her to focus. Her vision began to blur and she closed her eyes tightly. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears as the Corporal finished his speech and they filed off the boat one by one.

Her eyes wandered to the towering landscape of glowing buildings hidden beneath inches of snow, their golden lights shimmering on the water beneath her. If no one had told her this place had been invaded by the Chinese military, then she’d have been none the wiser. It looked serene. Composed. Untouched by the ravages of war. Hopefully she could remain as intact during wartime.

They stood in formation as a man, who went by Sergeant Montgomery, addressed the platoon.

“Soldiers,” he bellowed, his voice sharp and commanding. “Welcome to Anchorage. I wish that we were all gathered here under better circumstances. Our mission here is simple: assist and defend. We sent out a small squad via parachute last night to infiltrate the occupied base. So far, they have not been spotted by Chinese patrols, but we’d feel it best to send additional backup.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping left to right, his arms clasped tightly behind his back. “That’s where you all come in. You are some of the most gifted, and the most promising, group of Privates that I have ever seen. Your progress reports from your supervisors have nothing positive marks. For that, I’ve enlisted your help.”

Montgomery’s eyes locked onto hers and she felt her insides grow cold.

“It will be your job to aid in the reclamation of our base and the eradication of any and all communist targets. We begin our assault at 0500 tomorrow. Hit the barracks and unwind for a bit because in the morning,” he smiled a bit, “we go to war.”

Olivia’s mouth slid open an imperceptible amount as those four words left his lips.

_ War. War. War. _

She repeated the word in her mind like a mantra. All of her training lead up to this moment and yet she felt so incredibly unprepared. This was real, heavy, with tangible repercussions for her mistakes. One faulty move and people’s lives could be lost. She was pulled from her reverie by a fellow private, who gave her a nudge. She hadn’t realized that the platoon had started moving towards the barracks and she gave a rueful wave to the soldiers behind her.

Olivia kicked the remaining snow from her boots as she entered the dining hall, muttering a quick goodbye as the majority of her group headed to the digs. The room was warm with the welcoming aroma of coffee and bread, and she pulled her shemagh from her face with a deep inhale. She spied the food counter in the back and made a beeline for it. She wasn’t particularly hungry but she knew she had to try and eat something. After grabbing a plate of unappetizing looking food, and a cup of coffee, she took a seat at one of the only empty tables.

She scooped a few bites of bland InstaMash into her mouth and grimaced. Her stomach was still in knots and she had to force herself to swallow. She stared at the congealed mess of gravy, mashed potatoes, turkey, and cornbread on her plate and shivered. After a few moments her eyes wandered around the room. It was filled with soldiers laughing, their faces alight with carefree smiles and their bellies full of dehydrated government food. How could they eat at a time like this, let alone laugh? She lost what little appetite she had and pushed her tray away, settling on sipping her room temperature coffee.

“Saint.”

She flinched as the voice at her flank startled her. She looked up to see the private from the boat earlier. Short brown hair, neatly buzzed on both sides, framed a tanned face; two ebony eyes staring at her from beneath thick brows. What was his name? Trying to be inconspicuous, she eyed the patch above his breast pocket.

“Espinoza.”

“May I?” He gestured to the empty seat adjacent and she simply nodded. Placing his own tray down, he grabbed his fork, glancing at her untouched food. “Not hungry? I don’t blame you.”

Olivia cleared her throat, feeling somewhat awkward with his company. “I don’t know how anyone can eat at a time like this.”

Espinoza shrugged. “Either they haven’t grasped the situation fully or they’re just trying to make the best of it.”

“We all think we’re immortal until we aren’t anymore,” she said simply, taking a gracious sip of her beverage. Idly, she looked around, watching as the soldiers began to wind down a bit. It was quiet. “Do you wonder if any of this is even worth it? It seems almost futile, like leading sheep to slaughter.”

He seemed taken aback by her question for a moment before shrugging once again. “I’d say that kind of thinking is dangerous in this climate. These men and women, they have to believe what they’re doing is worth it… worthy of their sacrifice.”

“What good is belief if it’s wrong?” Something in her voice betrayed the growing fear in her belly and she looked down at her hands. “I might be way off base here but… something about this war just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“When does war ever sit right with anybody?”

At this, she let out a dry laugh. “Good point, Espinoza. I just… I don’t think this is going to be a win for any of us.”

“It hardly ever is,” he sighed. He resigned to eating and set his fork on his tray, looking up at her with sincere eyes. “Is that why you froze when we docked?”

She wondered why she felt so compelled to be open with a stranger, but if tonight was going to be her last night alive, what harm would be done?

“The reality of it all hit me in that moment. I joined the military for a family, camaraderie, a sense of self. The idea of going to war was always in the back of my mind, I just didn’t think it’d come so soon.” She put her coffee down and fiddled with engagement ring on her finger. “I have something to live for now.”

“As do I,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small booklet. He thumbed it open and showed her a small black and white picture. It was Espinoza with his arm draped across a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “But that’s why I fight. It’s for them. Channel that fear into determination. Let it instill a fighter’s spirit within you, so you can get back home to whoever is waiting for you.”

She smiled sadly, thinking of Nate. Nate and his dark, perfectly combed hair, his heavy brow and Roman nose. The way his jaw set when he was angry with her, and the way his composure would melt when she’d wrap her arms around his neck and plant a chaste kiss on his throat. He was never fond of her career in the military, often pushing her to let her contract run out and resign to a different field. Part of her hoped it was just his selfishness in wanting her back home with him, but the other half of her wasn’t sure. Nate was in college. He was going to be a lawyer. Smart with a silver tongue to boot. She could picture his future business card, all white and smooth with his name embossed in gold: _Nathaniel H. Becker, Defense Lawyer._

Would a roughened military spouse fit into his idealistic expectations for their future? Well, he’d proposed regardless. That had to mean something.

“Let’s just hope I have a home to go back to,” she breathed.

“You will,” he said reassuringly, a small smile dancing across his features. “This war isn’t over yet. The Chinese started something they can’t win and I think they know it.”

“Do they?” She queried. “It was pretty ballsy of them to attack Anchorage, knowing full well our base is here.”

“A desperate act,” he waved his hand in dismissal. “They’ll realize it won’t end well for them. You’ll see, it’ll all be okay in the long run. We just gotta get over this first.”

Olivia let a small wave of hope crash against her and she closed her eyes, trying to absorb some of Espinoza’s foolish optimism. He was partly right about not letting these kinds of futile thoughts damper her resolve, but it was hard. She was going to war tomorrow. Today her hands were clean of everything. Never had she raised her gun and taken another’s life, or watched someone die, but tomorrow that will change. And she’ll do it for her home. For Nate. For their future.

She had no other choice.

She opened her eyes again and set Espinoza with a look, tilting her chin up in mock confidence. “Let’s kick some Red Menace ass, then.”

Espinoza just laughed.


	2. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I come from a military family so that's where most of my inspiration comes from. Still, I had to do a lot of research into ranks and titles, as Olivia is from a different branch than my family was in. So I apologize if any ranking, jargon, etc., are wrong.

**Anchorage, Alaska.**   
May 2074

Olivia stared at the pock-marked ceiling of the hospital room, her amber irises wide and unflinching. It’d only been twenty-four hours since the accident happened. As if on cue, her leg began to throb, and she fumbled for the morphine drip. Every nerve in her body stood on edge and she let out a low groan, gritting her jaw. She rolled her thumb along the ridged wheel of the applicator and felt the warmth of the meds enter her blood stream. The pain in her leg began to ebb away. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and melted into the fluffy hospital pillows.

How could she have been so stupid? In the moment, it seemed like the most responsible thing to do. As a Corporal, it was her duty to ensure the safety of her team. They’d walked straight into a minefield, and she was the one who led them there. It was a panicky, emotionally-driven move, but she had directed them to retreat as she had been too far ahead to safely return. They’d fought with her but she was too far ahead of them, too deep into the field, and they’d reluctantly obeyed. She remembered watching them reluctantly disappear into the snowy embankment, the dark enamel of their combat armor swallowed up in a sea of white.

She waited a few beats, weighing her options. In that moment, she was afraid. Ashamed. It coated her skin in a thin layer of sweat and she struggled to stay focused. If she could backtrack from her current location using her trail of footprints, there was a chance she’d survive. The only issue was the growing layer of snow that began to bury her tracks. She wiped away a layer of condensation from her goggles and began to move. Her steps were slow and methodical, but she couldn’t stop the slight tremble of her limbs. She was nearing the edge of the embankment, so close to safety, when she heard it.

There was a soft click as her boot connected with the snow and she froze. A red light began to flash from beneath her, a horrible beacon of what was about to come. Her heart rammed against her rib cage as she lifted her boot and tried to run, but she wasn’t fast enough. The last thing she remembered was a horrible flash of heat and the searing pain of metal tearing into her flesh.

Then she awoke in the hospital bed, her leg propped up and wrapped into a neat little cast. The burns were extensive and traveled up the length of her side, continuing onto her arm, and scattering across her neck. There was only so much they could do for those. Everything hurt. She was upset with herself for not doing a more thorough sweep before leading her team into danger. The worst of it, though, was the disappointing, almost pitying look, she received from Sergeant Montgomery. He knew she knew better and she’d let her entire team down. That was a failure she’d carry with her always.

She jumped as someone lightly rapped on the door.

“Yes?” She called out.

The door creaked open and a concerned face peered around it. “Corporal Becker, may I come in?”

“Oh, hello Dr. Calhoun. Yes, please, come in,” she said, pushing herself up. “And please, call me Olivia.”

She tried to sound friendly but it came out forced. It was hard for her to relax in any medical setting, especially if a doctor was in the room. Nothing good ever came from doctor visits.

“Ah, okay, Olivia,” he smiled lightly, his eyes crinkling. “I have your x-rays with me and I thought you’d like to be briefed on the status of your injury.”

He paced over to the light board adjacent from her bed and turned it on, slipping two x-rays into place. The images lit up in hues of blues and greens and she sucked in a breath. Olivia had no medical training beyond first aid, but even she could tell that something just wasn’t right.

“This is what we like to call a comminuted fracture,” he drew her attention to a small pocket of breaks. “The force of the explosion shattered your tibia. The damage was extensive but we were able to put titanium rod and some screws into place and save your leg. The damage to surrounding muscle and nerve tissue was irreparable, so you may experience some loss of feeling or sensation at the surgical site.”

“Will I be able to walk on it?” She asked, her eyes transfixed on the x-rays.

“You should regain _some_ mobility,” he clasped his hands together and turned to face her, approaching the edge of her hospital bed. “The damage to your muscles are permanent. We tried to save as much of it as we could, but the explosion tore away a good majority of the muscles surrounding your calf.”

“So…” she trailed off for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “What does that mean for me?”

“You may never be fit for combat duty again,” he said, his face blank. 

Olivia felt the floor slip out from beneath her and, if she hadn’t already been laying down, she was sure she would’ve felt her knees buckle.

“So… so that’s it?” She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry. "One leg injury and I'm put out to pasture?"

“Olivia, barring you from combat duty doesn’t deny you of your usefulness. You can find other career paths. There are many programs that--”

“Please, doctor,” she put a shaky hand up to silence him. “The military is all I’ve ever known and I’m _good _at it. I was planning on being in active service for the rest of my life and now you tell me it’s an impossibility.”

The doctor shook his head lightly and let his gaze fall to the ground. “There are so many people who would give up anything to go home, Mrs. Becker, and most of them die before they get to. Consider yourself lucky that you get to go home to your husband,” he brought his gaze back to her. “War is Hell and you have to look it in the face no longer.”

Olivia stared at the doctor for a moment before her gaze traveled down to her hands. She flexed them idly. The doctor was merely trying to give her some perspective but he just didn’t _understand_. War is war and Hell is Hell and of the two, war is a lot worse. But in her time within the service, despite the losses and the horror she’d witnessed, she found her meaning.

Today, he took that meaning away from her.

The doctor was quiet for a good while before he flanked her, lightly setting a clipboard on the bedside table.

“Here are some forms you need to sign. Our facility has already forwarded your condition to the Medical Evaluation Board. If you have any questions on how medical discharge works, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Olivia wanted to knock the end table over, to throw the offending clipboard against the wall and scream. She felt anger bubble beneath her rib cage and it crept up her neck to take hold of her face. Every pore tingled and her face grew hot. Her hands began to tremble and she balled them into fists, her knuckles blanching from the pressure. For a moment her vision blurred and all she saw was a flash of white behind her eyes. It’d been a long time since she felt so… _helpless_. This was happening and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

After a few moments, she was pulled back to reality by the clicking of the doctor’s boots against the linoleum floor. He had turned around and was heading towards the hallway. Her eyes wandered to the back of his neatly pressed fatigues, the reflection of the sterile hospital lighting bouncing off his stethoscope. His shoulders were squared and his movements rigid. One hand shoved into his pocket and the other was tightly clenched at his side. Was this hard on him, too? How many careers had ended per his instruction?

She inhaled sharply and snatched the clipboard from the end table. “Doctor?”

He paused his steps and turned around, his face impassive. “Yes?”

“So… how does this work, exactly? Does medical discharge mean I’ll be pushed into retirement?”

“That’s one possibility, yes.” He took a few concise steps to her bedside. “The Medical Evaluation Board is only the first step. If they agree with my suggestion of medical discharge, they’ll send both recommendations to the Physical Evaluation Board.”

“If they disagree, and they think you can still qualify for military service, then they will place you on temporary disability leave. After that, they’ll retrain you for whatever position. But,” he paused, “that doesn’t happen very often with injuries like the ones you’ve sustained.”

She felt that familiar tug of anger in her chest but tried to remain calm. She thumbed through the first few pages of the paperwork he’d given her. “What else?”

“They could separate you from active duty. If you’d just had some minor injuries and were otherwise physically capable of completing your duties, you would be sent back to your post with some assignment limitations.”

“I wish that were the case,” she said softly, her voice straining. “I’m a sniper. I’ve been one for the better part of a decade. It’s a huge part of my life. How do I live after this? How… how do I…” she stammered. Tears obscured her vision and she blinked, feeling them spill over and drench her cheeks. She quickly dabbed at them with the back of her hand, “Oh, god. I’m so sorry.”

Her frustration was quickly replaced with embarrassment. She rarely ever cried. Even her own husband had seen her cry on only two occasions, one of which being their wedding day. Now this man, who she barely knew, was seeing her at her lowest and she wished she were anywhere else but here.

The doctor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, don’t apologize. You’ve suffered a great loss and what you’re feeling is normal.”

“I know so many men and women under my command who would love to go home, even if they were disfigured or missing a limb. You even said so yourself. People _want_ to go home. Why can’t I be happy?” She turned her watery gaze up to the doctor. “How do I find my silver lining?”

The doctor was silent for a few beats with his head bowed deep in thought. His grip on her shoulder loosened as he let his hand fall away, turning his sincere brown eyes to her face. He forced a smile.

“Get better. Go home to your husband. Start a family,” his smile faltered for a moment. “When a country is at war, the amount of good days we’re awarded are numbered. Enjoy what life you’ve been given. It’s all you can do.”

Although it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, she appreciated his attempt at helping her find the brighter side of the situation. She nodded solemnly and turned her head back to the paperwork. The doctor gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder before making his exit.

She thought about Nate waiting for her at home.

She remembered the fight they’d had the night before she left for her third deployment. Nate had just started his first job out of law school and he wanted her there to support him.

He’d always resented her time spent in the Marines. He wanted Olivia to retire and be a stay at home mom. Although that life was good for some women, the idea of being confined to a house with an existence centered on popping out children was just suffocating. That was one part of their relationship where they’d never see eye-to-eye.

He didn’t understand the gravity of the situation between the U.S. and China. Right after Nate proposed, she’d been deployed to Anchorage during the initial Chinese invasion. She’d been only a Private at that time but her experience in Alaska shaped her military career. Since then, she’d been deployed two more times to Anchorage. Both the Army and the Marines were put at the front lines, trying to halt the invasion across the Bering Strait.

The fight to regain control of Alaska was ongoing and they were in their eighth year. At this point, she wasn’t sure if the U.S. forces would ever push the Chinese into retreating. She knew the Reds would never give up the oil reserves within the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. Oil was scarce, as were many other vital materials, and it was worsening the tension between the two countries.

When she wasn’t actively deployed, she was transferred to whichever state her services were needed. Nate only moved with her once before settling in Massachusetts to finish up his education. She couldn’t fault him for that. She wanted him to fulfill his dream of becoming a lawyer. 

And now she got to fulfill his other dream of her being at home full time.

She needed to call Nate and let him know what was happening. There was a phone on the bedside opposite to her and she stretched, reaching the handset. She fumbled with the rotary, each number clicking in succession. She pressed the phone to her ear as it began to ring. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears and she felt her pace quicken when he answered.

"Hello?" The voice crackled in the receiver.

“Hey Nate, it’s me,” she took in a trembling breath. “Yeah, I’m-I’m okay. Listen, I’ve got some news… I’m coming home.”

_Was there even a home for her to return to?_


	3. All Good Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far, thank you so much for sticking with it. I know the first two chapters are kind of slow but I wanted to really introduce Olivia to y'all, so you can see what she's been through and how it's shaped her. Now we get to see a little bit of our favorite Paladin.

**The Commonwealth  
2287**

The morning sun peaked over the rooftops of Sanctuary Hills; its red and pink hues stretching across the sky. Olivia smiled to herself, enjoying the sunrise. With a grunt, she tossed her weathered backpack and it hit the ground with a ‘_thunk_.’ As the backpack landed at her feet, it stirred a cloud of dust and she pursed her lips disapprovingly. It coated her boots and she tapped them lightly against the pavement.

Her eyes traveled from her boots and back to the skyline. Most days, the skies were a sickish green color with some yellow here and there. But, every now and again, the radioactive gasses would clear and she would get a burst of vibrant hues. It almost looked ordinary. Like if she just kept her gaze upwards she could almost pretend things were normal. Before the bombs, before the vault, before Nate...

Her smile quickly faded.

Nate.

How long had it been? She fiddled with her wedding ring, twirling it with the index finger and thumb of her other hand. It was worn and scuffed and sometimes it’d get caught on things when she was out scavenging, but she didn’t have the heart to take it off. It didn’t feel right. It had become an extension of herself and she wasn’t quite sure who’d she be without it. She let her hands drop to her sides and she shook her head.

It wasn’t often that she’d _allow _herself to think of what had happened to Nate. Allow being the key word. It was just how things were. You rebuild and you move forward. Every day was a struggle to simply survive and she knew that if she permitted herself to feel, to process her pain, she would lose her resolve and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. She had to stay strong for Shaun. Her only purpose was to find her son.

Until then, her feelings would have to be put on the back burner.

“Just returning?” She heard someone ask.

She threw a casual glance over her shoulder. “Preston,” she clicked her tongue and turned around to face him. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep and decided to do some scavenging. I needed some supplies to repair my weapons, anyways.”

“I admire your persistence but, Olivia, you need to sleep,” Preston said disapprovingly. “What good are you to the Minutemen if you’re exhausted?”

Olivia let out a short laugh. “I appreciate the concern, Preston. But I was a soldier long before you even existed. I only know how to function when I’m sleep deprived.”

“I’m serious,” Preston’s face was stern. “You need to take care of yourself. You’re starting to look a little rough around the edges.”

“My edges have never been smooth,” she replied, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m not some delicate desert rose.”

“Now you know that’s not what I meant,” he frowned slightly.

She laughed, amused by is seriousness. “Yeah, yeah… I know. Just trying to, uh… lighten the mood. Doesn’t seem to work on you.”

There was a brief flicker of emotion across his eyes before he gave her a reproachful look. “It can work on me, you just have horrendous timing.”

At this, Olivia audibly laughed, her face aching as she grinned.

After a brief pause he cleared his throat and took a step closer. “I was going to let you know about a settlement in need of help but I think you should get some rest first.”

She let out a breath and crossed her arms defensively. Although it was true that her time in the military allowed her to adapt to functioning on only four hours of sleep, it wasn’t the reason she avoided sleeping altogether.

Every time she started to drift off, she saw Nate. She saw his fingers desperately gripping on to the fabric of Shaun’s swaddling blanket. She saw his face contorted in terror and pain as he was shot, his blood splattering against the cold steel of the vault. She heard Shaun’s shrill crying as he was pulled away from the only family he’d ever known.

But what truly jarred her was that she saw _him, _the murderer_, _whoever he was. She remembered his marred, impassive face as he turned around and peered into her cryo-chamber. She could vividly recall the light glinting off of his revolver as he waved it around, she could hear the gruff timbre of his voice as he spoke to his companion. He referred to Olivia as a ‘backup.’ That man, he tormented her.

She suffered every time she closed her eyes.

That’s why it was better if she just stayed awake. If she was awake, she could control her thoughts. Keep busy; bury those memories into the furthest alcove of her mind. She couldn’t afford to weaken her resolve.

She finally looked up and met Preston’s kind, warm gaze. “I’m fine, seriously. Just tell me where the settlement is.”

Preston frowned deeply but seemed to deliberate. “I don’t know why I expected you to listen to me,” he sighed. “There’s a settlement right outside of Cambridge. They’ve been complaining about a colony of ghouls nearby. They keep wandering into the camp and destroying their crops, polluting their water supply. Pretty standard extermination run.”

Preston updated the map on her PipBoy. She watched the little icon pop up. It was quite a ways away, maybe half a day’s worth of traveling. She felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over her at the idea of walking such a distance. It was close to Diamond City, at least. Maybe she could stop and check in with Nick while she was out and about.

“Thank you, Preston. I’ll load up on supplies and repair my rifle before I head out.”

“Don’t forget to eat.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah.”

Preston rolled his eyes and strode past her, heading to his post at the mouth of the neighborhood. She stared at his back as he retreated, his laser musket secured tightly within his grip. His gait was wide and he stood tall, almost prideful.

She hadn’t known him for long and, if she were being honest, she didn’t know him still. Their exchanges were of a professional nature, never truly breaking beyond the cordial rapport that comes along with it. The deepest their conversation had achieved was when she brought up Shaun back at the Museum of Freedom. Even then, she only brought it up as a reminder of where her loyalties lied. She agreed to help the Minutemen under the condition that they would help her in return when the time came.

Quid pro quo. 

She aided the Minutemen here and there; clearing farms, subways, train stations, and abandoned buildings of Ghouls. Raiders. Mutants. Radroaches. Anything that would threaten the livelihood of the civilians. They did so under the guise of unity: we help you, you side with the Minutemen. For the most part, people were eager to align themselves with the militia-- even after what happened in Quincy. It was just human nature. Every person, whether they’d like to admit it or not, wants to belong. They want to feel a part of something bigger than themselves. That’s what appealed to Olivia about the military.

And although their disorganization and lack of discipline frustrated Olivia at times, she found the militia rather comforting in its own way. It was an iota of structure and justice in an otherwise chaotic world. In her time, militias were seen as groups of inexperienced vigilantes with inflated egos and a penchant for hoplophilia. But now… they were just soldiers at the front lines of a war they might never win, doing what they thought was right for the betterment of humanity.

She grabbed her bag full of supplies and headed to her current accommodations.

She’d been staying in the garage of her former neighbor’s. It wasn’t her original plan. The first day back in Sanctuary had been exceedingly jarring. She had stood on the front lawn of her former home for what felt like hours, staring at the chipped paint and the dilapidated roof. She had contemplated setting up shop there but each time she approached the doorway she would start to shake. Her heart would lurch into her throat and she’d freeze, afraid to go in. Afraid of what she’d find. Afraid to relive everything.

Anything she needed to retrieve from the house, Codsworth was more than willing to assist her. It was how she was able retrieve her old military sniper rifle. The one with her and Espinoza’s initials carved into the handguard. After all these years, it still meant more to her than any other worldly object.

She settled for occupying the house adjacent. It was rough looking until she committed to some repairs. All it took was adding a few walls around the carport, a couple of carpets, and_ voila_. A few of the other Sanctuary settlers had the same idea and began doing their own repairs.

As she entered it now, she saw Sturges in the living room hammering away at some wall panels. Mama Murphy was sitting on a couch next to him, silently staring out the window. Olivia crept past the opening, trying not to draw any attention. 

She pulled her sniper rifle from her back and rested it on the repair station. It had started to jam when she was out in the field and knew she’d have to clean and restore some of the smaller pieces. She had just begun to break down her gun when she heard someone round the corner.

“You’re up already?” Sturges asked, his drawl ever present, pulling his welding goggles from his face. A line of grime circled his eyes and he wiped at his forehead, smearing it.

Olivia forced a grin. “Yep, I’ve been up for a while.”

“Couldn’t sleep again, huh?” He lit up a cigarette and took a drag, leaning against the wall next to the gun station. “You got to work on that.”

Olivia pulled the stock off her gun and threw a reproving look at Sturges.

“Now, don’t give me that look. I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help,” she muttered, oiling up a nylon brush.

“You sure are a cranky one,” Sturges laughed to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette. He exhaled tendrils of smoke through his nose and shook his head. He withdrew a stogy from his pack and offered to Olivia. “I feel like you need one of these.”

She stared at it for a moment, her hand twitching as it hovered over her rifle. “I haven’t had a cigarette since I was a teenager.”

“You haven’t had a cigarette in over two-hundred years,” he jiggled the pack enticingly. “Far too long.”

Olivia shrugged and pulled the cigarette from the pack, tucking it behind her ear. “I’ll smoke after I’m finished with this. I don’t want to try lighting up with rem oil all over my hands.”

“Probably a smart decision. Why are you in a rush to fix that rifle, anyway?”

“Preston has me on another job,” she replied. “There’s a settlement near Cambridge that needs my assistance.”

Sturges let out a low whistle. “That has to be your fourth run in three days.”

She paused for a second while she thought about it. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Why don’t you stick around here for a few days? Not now, but when you’re done with this job. We could use a hand around here,” he gestured to the doorway. “Our numbers have shot up since we installed that radio beacon and we’re running out of space.”

“So, what do you need? Shelters?”

“That’d be a start,” he pulled his welding gloves from his hands and tossed them aside. “We also need beds, water pumps, and the soil needs tilling so we can start planting crops. Most of these people,” he paused, clearing his throat. His face fell a little bit as he continued, “most of these people have been wandering for years. They’re exhausted.”

She frowned.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she ground out, trying to clean a particularly rusty piece.

“Yeah… you keep saying that.” Sturges dropped his cigarette butt onto the concrete, putting it out with the heel of his boot. “Just let me know.”

“Will do.”

He turned to leave when he paused mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh and… be safe. I know you think you’re tough shit but this world is still pretty new to you. It’ll chew you up and spit you right back out if you’re not careful.”

Olivia stopped her careful ministrations and looked up, her eyes narrowing an imperceptible amount. She opened her mouth to retort but Sturges waved her off and left the room. She felt a surge of annoyance and she fought the urge to throw the pieces of her gun at the back of his head. _What a pest._

She scoffed, turning her attention back to her work.

It was noon when Olivia decided to head to Cambridge.

She had spent six hours repairing her weapons and restocking her supplies. The tips of her fingers were grimy and swollen and no matter how hard she scrubbed them, they wouldn’t come clean. It reminded her of her days in boot camp. Her drill sergeant used to make her platoon break down their guns and reassemble them over and over to the point that she could do it backwards and blindfolded. It was a good three months out of training before her hands started to look presentable. At least out in the wastes everyone was covered in dirt.

She tossed her backpack over her shoulder, buckling it in place across her chest. Next, she strapped her water canteen to her belt, which was followed by three extra ammunition pouches. Scavenging for bullets was something she hated doing, especially in the middle of traveling. She usually opted for making her own but supplies ran limited most of the time. After assuring herself that she was amply ready and double-checking everything, she left Sanctuary.

The weather was fair and she was thankful for it. The past week had been rainy and cold with the end of Fall approaching. It used to be her favorite time of year. The leaves would change and the forests would bloom in an array of reds and yellows. She used to sit on the patio with a cup of coffee and read, enjoying the cool air as it nipped at her cheeks. She dragged her gaze across the frigid, rolling landscape.

Now everything was dead. Plain. Monochromatic.

A frown tugged at her lips.

By the time she stopped, she’d made it to Somerville. Cambridge was maybe a twenty minute walk away before she decided to scavenge a nearby building. It’d caught her eye with its large white pillars and deep burgundy colored brick face. As she approached it, she realized it was a motel, although the name of it atop the doorway had long been worn away. It wasn’t the most dilapidated motel she’d seen so far. The walls still had wallpaper, although it was peeling a bit, and the ceiling was intact. Aside from a few piles of fiberglass insulation, a skeleton here and there, and a few doors rusting off the hinges, it was actually… livable.

After clearing the rooms, she returned to the lobby and rummaged behind the counters; checking for spare bottle caps, ammunition, anything that would help. A triumphant “a-ha!” escaped her mouth as she spotted a bottle of iodine pills. She thrust an eager hand into the cubby and grabbed the bottle, but as she pulled back a pile of newspapers tumbled to the floor. She cursed softly as she set the pills on the counter, reaching to pick up the grime laden papers. Even if the building was dilapidated and worn down to its foundation, she still felt an instinctual need to be tidy. Leaving a mess, or in most instances leaving a place messier_,_ seemed disrespectful.

She didn’t need any_ more_ pre-war ghosts following her around.

The newspaper was frayed and barely readable and she flipped it over in her hands, inspecting the print. It was a copy of the _Boston Bugle_. She felt a slight smile tug at her lips. No matter how many times she encountered these during her travels, she found herself in awe. In her hand was a little beacon of the past; a moment in time frozen forever. She ran the pad of her thumb over the top right-hand corner of the page, memorizing that date.

_October 21st, 2077. _

She remembered Nate sitting at the table with his half eaten breakfast splayed out in front of him. In one hand he held a mug and in the other was the daily newspaper. He’d occasionally announce something he thought would pertain to Olivia’s interests or ask her for help with a crossword puzzle. Olivia used to lay the newspaper out for him each morning, since she was an early riser and he was most decidedly not.

That morning, the days the bomb fell, she’d placed the paper on the table. She had Codsworth make him his coffee—black with two sugars—and placed his poached eggs with bacon next to it. He had walked in and kissed her on the cheek, his breath soft against her skin and the smell of his aftershave lingering in the air. They’d had plans to go to the park with Shaun after breakfast. Everything had been so… _normal_. It was the most peaceful she had ever felt in her life.

Olivia let her eyes close for a moment and breathed in deeply. Her fingers dug into the newspaper as she trembled slightly, trying to keep that familiar wave of grief at bay. After a few beats she relaxed slightly and turned to place the newspaper onto the counter top.

She was about to turn and head to one of the rooms when she heard it; a loud _pop_. She froze. A rush of adrenaline surged through her limbs and she tilted her head, straining to listen. Her heart thrummed in her ears as the wind whistled outside the window, errant papers and garbage rustling as they skittered against the gravel. Had she been imagining it? She shook her head slightly. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

_Pop. Pop. Pop. _

It echoed through the quiet neighborhood.

_Pop. Pop. Pop. _

Her skin grew hot as her stomach twisted. That noise was all too familiar.

That was gun fire. And it was close.

Olivia hurriedly shoved her newly acquire items into her bag and bolted towards the door, barreling into the street. The chilly night air whipped against her face and she sucked in a breath, her eyes darting between each building. She was looking for a flash, some movement, anything to tell her where that sound was coming from.

Had she been too late to save the settlers? Were they being ambushed? Was there a raider compound nearby? Super mutants? Her heart rammed against her ribcage as she felt fear grip at her throat.

She moved slowly, cautiously, keeping herself low to the ground. She fumbled for her rifle, pulling it from its position against her back and bringing it to her chest. With a few steadying breaths, she tried to regain some composure. This wasn’t new to her. This was combat. She spent almost ten years of her life in the field.

An alarm chirped on her pip-boy and she flinched, pulling the offending device to her face. A small notification floated across the screen. The flashing green letters informed her of a new signal that had been picked up. She toggled the screen until she reached the radio station in question. It was a distress signal, but the station numbers didn’t look familiar. Some settlements would use portable satellites or ham radios to put signals. Could this be them? A voice began to crackle over the speaker.

“_This is Scribe Haylen of Reconnaissance Squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range. Authorization Arx. Ferrum. Nine. Five. Our unit has sustained casualties and we’re running low on supplies. We’re requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station. Automated message repeating…”_

Olivia stared at the flickering green screen of her pip-boy for a moment, letting the message repeat. That had not been the average distress signal she’d been expecting and that woman did _not_ sound like an average settler. So many questions flittered across her mind. For instance: what the hell was a Scribe? Where did they need to be evacuated from? Most notably, her authorization code sounded similar to the pre-war phonetic alphabet the military used. She shook her head briefly and turned the radio off with a click.

Whoever they were, they needed support fire and she was ready and able.

With a sigh she repositioned her rifle and headed north, unsure of what awaited ahead.

The wind nipped at her face as she hurried towards the center of town. The map in her pip-boy indicated the source of the distress signal was only a couple hundred yards away. She flinched as another explosion of gunfire erupted. The closer she got, the louder and more frequent it became.

Her boots thudded against the asphalt as she picked up the pace, breaking into a sprint. She rounded a cluster of buildings and skidded to a halt. There, in the distance, was a towering police station surrounded by cement half-walls and sandbags. It wasn’t the structure itself was intimidating, rather, it was the fact that it was swarming with ghouls. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever seen that many ghouls all at once—_ever_. It was the most fantastic (and terrifying) sight she’d ever witnessed.

She snapped back to reality and jumped into action, finding cover behind the shell of a rusted car. She pulled her rifle towards her, balancing it on the hood of the car as she crouched, and looked down the scope. If she was lucky, she could find some errant ghouls to pick off from afar before heading it. Thin the heard.

A ghoul entered the cross in her site and she turned the safety off, exhaling as she squeezed the trigger. The ghoul’s head exploded into a shower of crimson, pallid lumps of flesh spattering against the cement wall behind it.

A few more were picked off, one right after the other. It wouldn’t be long before they started to notice where exactly this line of fire was coming from.

A sheen of cold sweat coated her forehead and slicked her palms. The distance helped her to feel safe but she wasn’t, she was never truly safe. Each time she pulled the trigger she would look around, sweeping her immediate perimeter. The cover of darkness helped to keep her hidden, but it was only a matter of time.

She focused down the site once more, lining it up with a ghoul that was attempting to climb over the cement border around the station. With the pull of the trigger the ghoul’s head snapped back, its body going rigid for a moment before tumbling backwards.

The remaining ghouls started to disappear as they charged the building. Olivia stood up and moved towards them, trying to keep her steps light and her movements swift. A ghoul charged at her from her flank and she swung around, firing a rapid burst. It went down and she continued on, picking up pace. She took a moment to wipe her palms on the fabric of her uniform, hissing as she pushed an errant strand of blonde hair away from her face.

The adrenaline was getting to her.

Within a few beats she was at the station. It was chaotic and loud. Beyond the swarm of undead she glimpsed a small group of people. At the front was a looming figure in military-grade power armor, brandishing a laser rifle. The barrel glowed an ominous red in between its agitated firing. Olivia raised her gun and began to fire as she approached the swarm. She swept her gun back and forth methodically, watching them drop left and right.

A pang of dread pulsed through her when she pulled the trigger once more only to realize she was out of bullets. She frantically fumbled with her pouch, trying to retrieve her full magazine. She ejected the empty mag and popped the other one in. Just as she started to fire again she saw a blur of grays and blues in her peripheral vision. She swung around just in time to see a ghoul charging at her. It lunged for her midsection and she tried to hop back, but it was too late.

She hit the crumbled road-top with a thud, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her.

The ghoul had been flung a few feet from the sheer force of her takedown and she tried to stand, only to be pinned back down by a different one. Its arm had been shot off but it straddled her chest, its one hand flailing frantically as it attempted to reach for her neck. Her heart leapt into her throat as she pressed the upper receiver of her rifle into its chest, summoning all of her strength to try and push it off. If she tried to pull her rifle back to shoot, it’d surely leave her open.

_Fuck._

There wasn’t a good way to be trapped in a herd of feral ghouls, but being trapped on your back was undoubtedly the worst position to be in. She’d witnessed many people be taken out this way—pulled apart by gnashing teeth and rotting flesh. It was a slow, miserable way to die.

Her limbs began to tremble as she parried and blocked its blows, trying to find an opening so she could knock it off of her. Just as she was beginning to lose hope, she heard the hum of a laser above her and a brilliant flash of light. Blood sprayed against her face and she yelped, feeling the ghoul go limp, slumping against her rifle. She shoved it away from her with a curse, letting her rifle fall to her side. With trembling arms, she went to push herself up, when a gloved hand was thrust into her face. Olivia looked up, squinting through the blood to see who her savior was.

It was the person in the power armor she’d seen before.

She apprehensively accepted the gesture and placed her hand into theirs, letting out another unflattering yelp as they yanked her to her feet. _  
_

Olivia grumbled and bent down to pick up her rifle, dragging a dirtied hand over her face in a vain attempt to clear the blood. When she stood back up, she noticed the armored person had removed their helmet and she paused.

It was a man, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair peeking out from a hood. He gazed at her sternly from beneath a strong brow, his square jaw gritting as he gave her a once over. He had a dusting of stubble along his cheeks and intense, dark eyes, with a jagged scar dragging across his right eyebrow.

“We appreciate the assistance, civilian. But what’s your business here?” He asked.

She threw him a questioning glance. Were they not the ones projecting a distress signal? Maybe that signal wasn’t meant for her to hear. She frowned.

“Elaborate on what you mean by ‘here’?” She queried, aloof. “Because if you’re implying the wastelands in general, then I’m just trying to survive out here… like everyone else.”

His brows furrowed slightly but he remained impassive. “You don’t appear to be a common wastelander _just trying to survive_ with the way you charged in and engaged those ferals.” He hesitated, holstering his rifle, his gaze never leaving her face. “Are you from a local settlement?”

Olivia regarded him warily. She had no idea who this man was or what his intentions were. All she had done was respond to some fellow humans in desperate need of aid, but the reality was she knew nothing about them. Who they were or what their purpose was here was a complete mystery. It seemed he mirrored her apprehension.

She crossed her arms and shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t really have a home.”

“An answer that I hear often,” he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “If I appear suspicious, it’s because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire. You seem adequate in the field. Usually, I wouldn’t ask this of a stranger, but,” he paused, licking his lips. “If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”

She weighed her options. On one hand, she had a prior mission with the Minutemen to clear a feral infestation. On the other hand, she had just about seen enough ghoul fighting for one day. She felt guilt tug at the back of her mind but she pushed it away. The opportunity this man was giving her might turn out to be more fruitful. Besides, she’d hate to think what would happen to them if she decided not to aide them. Strangers they may be, but their deaths would weigh heavy on her conscience. Especially if she didn’t even _try_ to help.

“I’ll continue to help, but,” she paused, taking a step closer to him. He loomed over her in his power armor and she had to crane her neck back to meet his gaze, “You owe me an explanation first.”

He stared down at her, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers for a moment, before relenting. He let out a sigh.

“Very well. I’m Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Over there,” he gestured to a small statured woman in a wide brimmed hat and a grumpy looking man with a shaved head, “is Scribe Haylen. Next to her is Knight Rhys. We’re on recon duty, but I’m down a few men and our supplies are low.”

Her gaze wandered to the pair near the entrance. Haylen was hunched over Rhys. The front of his orange jumpsuit was spotted with blood and there was a large tear in the front panel of the material. She was pressing bandages to the wound with one hand and reaching back into a first aid box for a bottle antiseptic with the other. After cleaning it, she covered the wound in a dry bandage and taped it firmly in place. Her gloved hand ghosted over the bandage, almost soothingly, before taking a step back to admire her handiwork. Rhys didn’t look pleased but he was alive.

Haylen walked over to where she and Danse were talking and extended a hand. “Really saved our butts back there. Thank you for your help…?”

Olivia was waiting for her to continue talking before she realized Haylen was expectantly waiting for her name. “Oh!” She grabbed hold of Haylen’s hand. “Olivia Becker. And no problem. I heard gunfire and then stumbled upon your distress signal and decided to check it out.”

Haylen gave her a genuine smile, her freckle-specked face lighting up with curiosity. “And do you usually run to the aid of complete strangers?”

“I try not to make a habit of it, no,” she said lightly, trying to keep an air of humor. Danse and Haylen just stared at her blankly. _Yeesh, tough crowd._ “Actually, it’s kind of my job… I guess. I was on my way to help a couple of farmers with their own ghoul problem and got sidetracked by yours.”

“A mercenary?” Danse asked, his voice rough.

Olivia eyed him, gauging whether or not to be insulted. “No, actually. I’m not a hired gun. I…”

Part of her wondered how much information to relay to these two. After all, Danse said they were a part of the Brotherhood of Steel. She had no idea what kind of intentions they had. For all she knew, they would try to confront the Minutemen the moment they caught wind of them. Or, at the very least, where the remnants of them were currently located.

They looked at her expectantly.

“I just like to help people. Is it not our jobs, as humans, to help one another when we can?” She turned her gaze from Danse’s back to Haylen’s. It wasn’t_ technically_ a lie. “Any time I catch wind of people in need, I try to go and assist.”

“That’s… noble,” Haylen gave her a quizzical look. “It’s not often we meet someone so willing to dive right into danger just for the sake of helping others. Usually people want something in return.”

“Not me,” she tried to give a convincing smile but it faltered. “So, what is it that your squad needs help with?”

“I’ve been trying to send a distress signal to my superiors, but the signal’s too weak to reach them.” Danse thumbed in the general direction of building.

“Sir, if I may?” Haylen interjected before he could elaborate.

Danse nodded brusquely. “Proceed, Haylen.”

“I’ve modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I’m afraid it just isn’t enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal.”

“That’s where I come in?” Olivia queried, eyeing the radio tower looming at the top of the building.

“Correct.” Danse looked back at Olivia with a terse smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Our target is ArcJet Systems, and it contains the technology we need.”

“I’m assuming you’ll need some sort of deep range transmitter to boost something like that,” she said pointedly, her gaze still skyward. “Its old military technology but it’ll do the job—especially since towers like that don’t do much for distance. I didn’t pick up your distress signal until I was already in Cambridge.”

Seemed listening to Espinoza prattle on about military tech was worth it. He’d be so proud.

“Uh,” Haylen fumbled for a moment, taken aback. She seemed impressed. “That’s right, actually. It seems like you know your stuff, Olivia. What we need to do is infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here.”

She bobbed her head in thought, bringing a slender finger to tap her chin.

“So… what do you say? You willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?” Danse asked, his expression softening a bit as he awaited her response.

She studied him for a moment. His armor was intricate and well-kept, the emblem of what she believed to be his brotherhood plastered in shiny white paint across his chest. They must be in some deep shit for them to ask her, _a random traveler_, for assistance. She was sure to get an earful from Preston for not making a beeline to the settlers in need but… well, what did she really have to lose?

“There’s no time to waste. Let’s get moving.”

Danse flashed her a large, toothy grin and took her hand in his. “Outstanding.”


	4. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter deals with post-partum depression. Though I've never suffered from it, a few dear friends of mine have. Just a fair warning in case it's a sensitive topic for anyone.

**Massachusetts 2077**

The water was warm as she sank into it with a sigh, propping her leg against the side of the tub to inspect it. It’d been bothering her more than usual today and she rubbed it idly with a grimace. She’d thought once she shed the weight of pregnancy and subsequent childbirth that the aching in her limbs would dissipate. But it seemed the months of carrying Shaun hadn’t been kind to her body.

When she’d gotten pregnant, she was less than thrilled.

The looming thoughts of labor, swollen ankles, and stretchmarks filled her with dread, but the notion of extra weight on her leg hindering her already dwindling autonomy is what bothered her the most.

And it’d happened much like she’d anticipated.

Most of her pregnancy was spent in bed with cold compresses on her aching limb and feet propped up. Her plump, growing belly had been yet another reminder of the life she’d left behind. Only a few years prior, she’d been out in the field, a rifle in her hand, Espinoza at her side, with a fulfilled sense of purpose. She’d cut a bloody swath of Reds through Alaska like it was second nature.

Memories of teaching Espinoza how to hit a long range target and many nights spent sneaking alcohol in the mess hall flittered through her mind. She remembered listening to him ramble about the newest military tech and beating him in nightly poker matches. Or how Montgomery not only relied on her input and expertise in the field, but had come to respect her _and_ her dedication. The military was a culture that she thrived in; like a lotus emerging from murky waters. It was far from a perfect life back then, sure, and there was plenty of strife and loss for a life time. But at least she was _useful_.

A sense of resentment and fear mingled within her during those days of her pregnancy; even when Nate took time off work to wait on her every need. After his leave was up, she was left alone to tend the house. At first she didn’t mind it, but after weeks of folding laundry and watching afternoon soap operas, she’d begun to grow listless. Most of her friends were still in Alaska, fighting the good fight, and she'd rather be alone than suffer another lunch with one of the other neighborhood wives. 

Adding a crying baby into the mix didn’t help either.

And even now, a month after having Shaun, she found it hard to shake off those negative feelings. Only now that fear had been replaced with a stagnant anxiety. It’d been difficult being a mother. Her chest hurt constantly and she hated the ugly, horizontal scar beneath her navel where they had to cut Shaun out. She felt like her body, and her life, didn’t belong to her anymore.

And she supposed that was what being a parent meant; letting a part of yourself go in order to care for the life you were now in charge of. It was something she hadn’t fully grasped the gravity of until now.

Nate had noticed her behavior and tried to pry into why she was feeling this way, but she refused to let him in. Talking about it meant she had to acknowledge her failures. It made them real.

Aside from fulfilling the necessities a baby requires, Olivia barely spent any time with Shaun. She felt uncomfortable at the notion of holding him. Giving him her breast to feed was painful and awkward and she found herself counting the minutes until she could detach from him again. Sometimes she’d stare at him asleep in his crib and cry, wondering when those wonderful maternal instincts all her friends told her about would appear.

Escaping to a hot bath every other day was her only reprieve. No one had told her civilian life would be like this. Part of her wondered if it’d ever get better. She supposed she loved Shaun underneath all of the twisted emotions that burned between her ribs, but she wasn’t sure if that was enough. He was so small, but could he tell? Could he sense the resentment she fought when he pressed against her skin?

There was a small rap at the door.

“Honey?”

Olivia sat up a little, letting her bad leg finally sink into the steaming water. “Yes, Nate?”

There was a pause.

“Can I come in?”

She bit her lip in contemplation. This was the only time she had to herself these days and felt mild irritation at his invasion, but she conceded.

“Of course. The door’s unlocked.”

His black hair appeared first, peppered with spots of gray at the temples. Then she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the tired lines drawn across his face. He took a few steps and sat on the edge of the tub, letting his fingertips graze along the surface of the water. She stared at the ripples when he pulled his hand away.

“How are you feeling?” Nate asked, his eyes not meeting her face. Instead, he stared at something on the far wall of the bathroom.

She studied his profile for a moment, her gaze roaming over his stubble and unkempt locks. A sudden pang of guilt gripped her stomach and she frowned, reaching out to place a gentle palm on his forearm. Without hesitation, he brought his hand up and entwined it with her wet fingers, letting the water trickle down his arm and soak the hem of his sleeve. If it bothered him at all, she couldn’t tell.

“I’m…” she swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

At this, he turned his dark eyes to her. They were deep and lonely and sad. “Can you please stop lying to me, Liv? Can you stop shutting me out?”

Her eyes fell to their intertwined hands. “Nate, I-“

“Please,” his voice wavered. “What’s going on? Is it me…?”

“No,” she said so quickly it took him by surprise. “No, Nate. It’s not you. I _love_ you.”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “Then what is it? Why won’t you talk to me? Between work and the baby, I barely see you. I miss you, Liv. I miss us.”

His words felt like a slap and she tried to withdraw but he held tightly on to her hand. Olivia wanted to scream, she wanted to shove him off of the edge of the tub and tell him to leave her alone. This was yet another attempt to crack open her visage and peer inside and it felt _wrong_.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Please,” he slipped off the tub to kneel on the floor, bringing his other hand up to completely encircle hers. “I’m your husband. I just want to help.”

“I don’t know if this is something you can help with,” she snapped.

“How do you know if you won’t let me try?”

Tears burned at the edges of her eyes and she brought her free hand to wipe it away. Mixed emotions danced across his exhausted face and he brought her knuckles up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on each one, only to gently put it back down. The gesture eased some of her inner turmoil and she ran a few damp fingers along his jaw, trying to fight back the sob that threatened to bubble to the surface. If she was honest with him, about her struggling with being a mom, would he judge her? Leave her?

Finally, she spoke, her voice so soft and raw that it made Nate’s brows furrow with concern.

“I just… I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Nate.”

“For what?” He asked, his tone low and comforting.

“Being… a mom.” She hated the way her voice warbled. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course you can, honey,” he reassured her, cupping her cheek. “No one is born a good parent. Hell, when you told me you were pregnant I was scared out of my mind. I wasn’t sure I could be what our child needed.”

“But you were so excited.”

“Well, yeah. I felt like having a baby was a sign of things getting back to normal, for us to finally settle in and be happy. Build our future. Doesn’t mean I didn’t have my doubts,” he paused, his dark eyes fluttering closed for a moment with a sigh. “I know things haven’t been easy for you, between being discharged, struggling with your leg, and the sleep issues… but it’ll get better. We’ll get through this, just like we always have.”

Olivia hated the way he looked at her. He was genuine and good and she wasn’t deserving of his kindness. She so desperately wanted this to be different. But instead she found herself angry. Angry at Nate, angry at Shaun, and angry at herself for stepping on that goddamn mine three years ago.

“A baby doesn’t magically fix everything,” she replied bitterly. “It’s a small human, not duct tape.”

“I’m not saying it does, Liv.”

“You don’t understand,” she let out a heavy breath through her nose. “All of those things they tell you about being a mom… that instantaneous maternal love bullshit. I don’t feel any of that, Nate. I look at that baby in my arms and I…”

“You what?”

“God forgive me,” she brought trembling fingers to her lips. The sob finally broke through and she felt something inside of her break. “Sometimes I think I hate him… that I regret having him. What kind of mother feels that way?”

Nate just stared at her from under his thick lashes. There was no disgust or malice or judgment in those smoky depths, just sorrow. And she wasn’t sure if that was much better. Pained sobs wracked her body and she curled forward, letting her forehead ghost against the water. Shame coated her skin and self-loathing seeped from every pore; emotions so strong that it sent a chill straight to her bones. It felt like grief. That hollow sensation of losing something that can never return.

The worst part was even in her selfishness she understood that she wasn’t the victim in this circumstance, her son was.

But then she felt Nate snake an arm under her and scoop her from the tub. He pressed her shuddering body to his chest, running his fingers through her tangled mess of wet hair with comforting whispers. Water drenched the fabric of his clothing as it spilled over the edge of the tub, but it didn’t hinder him. Without looking, he yanked a towel from the wrack and draped it over her body. She buried her face into his shoulder and wrenched her fingers through his shirt.

“Don’t worry, Liv. It’s okay, I understand.”

“I’m a bad mom,” she said through chattering teeth.

“You just need some help,” a hand rubbed soothing circles into her back. “We can talk to someone… maybe even buy a Mister Handy to look after things when you need some time to reset. How about that?”

Olivia looked up at him through disbelieving watery eyes. “You… you’re not going to leave?”

At this, he finally smiled. “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but there isn’t anyone I’d rather spend my life with. This is fixable, Liv. Small steps.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” a chuckle rumbled deep within his chest. “I’m just glad you’re finally letting me in.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She teased.

Nate was quiet for a moment and she wondered if that was the wrong thing to have said. Her shutting him out was an ongoing issue, and she could practically kick herself at defaulting to hiding her discomfort with humor. But Nate just sighed with a shake of his head.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

She didn’t fight against him as he carried her to their bedroom. And for the first time in years, she really believed him when he said that things were going to be okay.


	5. A Call to Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated whether or not to include this quest, as it's been done over and over again. Hopefully y'all won't be too bored. I also took the liberty to change some aspects of the quest because, hey, why not?

Danse kept them at a light run for most of the way, much to her surprise. How someone could keep that sort of pace in power armor was beyond her. They were clunky and heavy. In her days, men fought tooth and nail to get their own set. Once they got their hands on them, it was rare to see them in anything but the armor. But to her, it just seemed impractical. Sure, it was beneficial for heavy artillery and it kept one safe from fall damage. But it was something she could never get used to, no matter how hard she tried and how often she trained.  
  
“ArcJet is a short hike to the west,” Danse broke the silence. “We’ll take this road, we should be able to avoid the larger pack of ferals infesting Cambridge.”

“It sounds like my idea of a short hike is vastly different from yours,” Olivia panted, out of breath. “Must we jog?”

“It is vital that we keep a fast pace, as traveling this far from the police station is a risk. Getting that transmitter up and running has to be our top priority. So, yes,” he glanced at her from under thick brows, “we must jog.”

“Why not just remove your team from the area and find a more suitable base? Why is getting this transmitter a top priority when you would be better off elsewhere?”

“If it were up to me, I’d relocate my team,” Danse replied thoughtfully. “But Scribe Haylen has detected some disturbing energy readings in the area that need to be investigated.”

“Energy readings?” Olivia asked. “What kind of energy readings?”

“We don’t know much about them except that they’re short lived and broadcasted on a frequency only attainable with a high level of technology. We’re concerned that whoever, or whatever, is creating those energy readings might be a potential threat.”

Olivia wracked her brain. Her gaggle of Minutemen lacked the necessary technology to pick up on such powerful energy readings. Her brows furrowed. Something of that scale had been able to generate high levels of energy and yet remain relatively undetected to a majority of commonwealth was… disturbing.

“It’s our job to investigate, so we had to remain nearby.”

Olivia nodded in agreement. “Fair enough.”

She was about to open her mouth to ask him another question when he came to a dead stop, putting his arm up in a halting motion. Olivia stopped dead in her tracks. There was an abandoned bus to their right and he crouched behind the tail, gesturing for her to join. She obliged without hesitation, crouching next to him. He pointed a gloved hand ahead of them and she scanned the area.

About a half a mile away was a derelict looking bridge with what appeared to be four or five figures beneath it. Without hesitation, she lifted her rifle and peered down her scope.

“Raiders,” she said. “All armed. How would you like me to proceed?” She turned her questioning gaze to Danse. “I can pick off one or two from here.”

“They’re blocking our only route to ArcJet Systems,” he mused aloud. “From the way you handled yourself back at the station, I don’t doubt your ability to handle your weapon.”

Olivia couldn’t help the prideful grin that pulled at her lips.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll flank them and finish off the ones who are left. Don’t miss.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and went back to looking through her scope. “I won’t.”

Danse didn’t have the chance to fully witness her skill with a rifle back in Cambridge. He saw her take out a few ferals, sure, but he ended up having to save her ass in the end. Now would be a good time to show him what she was made of.

She flipped the safety off and exhaled, squeezing the trigger. The raider in her site fell immediately, a cascade of blood spurting from his head. Before the others could move into action, she fired again, watching as another one fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. She managed to eliminate one more before Danse intervened, taking the opportunity to stand and begin support fire. The hum of his laser rifle filled the silent evening air and ignited the surrounding area in hues of reds and yellows. She watched in fascination as the last raider was struck and disintegrated into a glowing dust pile.

Danse holstered his weapon and turned to face her. His eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly agape, as if she had suddenly sprouted another head.

“That was _outstanding_, civilian! Where did you learn to shoot like that?” He asked incredulously.

“It’s… uh,” she faltered, not quite sure how to even begin explaining it to him. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, once we’re done with this assignment, I would be interested in hearing it. Never have I seen such weaponry prowess from a commonwealth citizen.”

“Ah, thank you,” she replied awkwardly. “It’s nothing special, Paladin.” 

When she was younger and refining her skill with a sniper rifle, the men in her unit, namely Espinoza, had coined a nickname for her: _Longshot_. She’d had the reputation of being able to hit a mark from several hundred yards away. Later, when years of combat application had improved her skill even more, she was able to strike a target from a mile away. After that, the nickname stuck. Even her commanding officer had used it at one time or another. It was a relief that, even after being out of the service for a while, she was still able to maintain her skill. To her, it was like riding a bike. The action of picking up a rifle and firing it was familiar and comforting.

“Let’s move out,” Danse said, drawing Olivia from her reverie.

“Yes, let’s.”

They reached the ArcJet building without further issue. The building was large and loomed against the dim light of the evening sky. Olivia followed Danse as he moved towards the entrance, clicking his helmet into place.

“Listen here,” he turned to her. “We do this clean, we do this quiet. No heroics and by the book. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good,” he nodded firmly. “Remember, our primary target is the deep range transmitter. Stay focused and check your fire. I don’t want to be hit by stray bullets.”

“That won’t be a problem,” she assured him.

“I’m sure.”

They moved silently into the building, letting the door close softly behind them. It took a moment for Olivia’s eyes to adjust to the darkness and she blinked, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her hands. Immediately, the scent of stagnant air invaded her nostrils and she grimaced. That was probably two-hundred years of rot and asbestos she was inhaling. The lobby was wide and littered with fallen roof tiles and tufts of insulation. On either side of the room were two staircases that led to pits, each of which contained waiting benches and broken vending machines.

She remembered what these places looked like in their prime. These facilities were just shadows of what they used to be; hollowed and scooped out by the devastating ravages of war. Although, she rarely set foot in factories such as these. It wasn’t often that her work took her to these places but when they did, she’d often marvel at the grandiosity of the design.

“It was corporations like this that were the last nail in the coffin for mankind,” Danse said seriously, taking pause to inspect a collapsed staircase. “They exploited technology for their own gains, pocketing the cash, and ignoring the damage they’d done.”

“You’re not wrong,” Olivia agreed as she came to a rest at his side. “There were many infrastructures that failed mankind as a whole back in the day. But, on a scale of one to ‘the worst’, these kind of corporations aligned with the latter.”

“That was… very well said.”

“I’m quite articulate when I want to be.”

They moved onward, heading towards a hallway at the back of the lobby. Most of it had collapsed in on itself but there was a single doorway to their right, which led to a smaller room. She stayed a few feet behind Danse, throwing a glance over her shoulder every few seconds, wary of what often lurked in these empty buildings.

“Look at these wrecks,” she heard Danse grouse. “It appears as if the facility’s automated security has already been dealt with.”

Olivia leered around his large frame to get a look at what he was grumbling about. Scattered all along the floor were deactivated protectron units, each looking more and more banged up than the last. A row of empty security pods lined the wall of the room, leading to a small wooden desk with a computer. Not a single unit had survived the ordeal. She noted that the room was remarkably unscathed for the fight that must’ve occurred here.

“I can see that,” she replied, coming around to face Danse. “Must’ve been a hell of a lot of firepower to take these out with no surrounding damage.”

“Damn it. I was hoping to avoid this.”

“Avoid what?” Olivia queried.

“Look at the evidence. There isn’t a single spent ammunition casing or drop of blood in sight. These robots were assaulted by Institute synths.”

_How did he know that?_ She felt her stomach drop to her knees at the mention of the Institute. She had already learned about them after rescuing Nick, who was a prototype synth that had been seemingly abandoned. He had been baffled to learn that she had no knowledge of what the Institute was and even more baffled upon learning that she was, in fact, from two-hundred years in the past. The Institute was her only solid lead in her search for Shaun thus far, though she still wasn't entirely convinced.

“I’ll keep a lookout,” she managed to say, swallowing the lump that appeared in her throat.

“Affirmative,” he said curtly, giving a short nod. “Let’s move on, then.”

They continued down another hallway, this one narrower than the one prior. Danse had a hard time lugging his giant frame through it and he walked a little slower, careful not to knock into the walls. The last thing they needed was Danse, a massive tin can, rattling against the metal framework of the building and alerting any nearby synths. Finally, the hallway relented and opened up into a wider area. It appeared to be a control room of sorts.

“Looks like a dead end,” Danse hummed. “See if you can find a way to get that door open.”

He gestured towards a large metal door adjacent from them.

“Me?” She looked at him incredulously. “What are _you_ going to do?”

“I’m going to reconnoiter the area.”

“Look, I don’t mind being an extra gun for you _or_ having your back in this place, but,” she chewed on her bottom lip, gesturing to the room in a wide sweep, “why do you think I’d be any better at finding a way to open that door than you?”

Danse gave her a stern look, his brows furrowing together. “If I recall from your little demonstration earlier, you seem to have decent knowledge on pre-war technology. There’s a terminal over there,” he nodded towards a platform in the center of the room. “That’s a start.”

She idly wondered if she had _‘I’m a giant idiot’_ stamped across her forehead or if Danse had just figured that out on his own. Olivia inwardly cringed and gave him a silent nod, saving herself from any further embarrassment. She ascended up the small staircase to her right and moved towards the terminal. She flung her rifle behind her back and took a seat, letting her fingers glide along the keys.

This was a skill she’d picked up long before she enlisted. She’d always had a knack with technology and, when she was a teenager, wistfully hoped to attend CIT to further pursue her interest in computers. The way life went, and the older she got, the more she was drawn to the marines. A small hope had flickered insider her at the thought of attending school while enlisted (and to be paid to do it), but the looming war had other ideas in store for her.

Her eyes scanned the code before finding a hole in the firewall security.

“A-ha!” She let out a triumphant bark, looking to Danse with a huge grin. “There’s a command in this console for the security door. I’m assuming,” she nodded towards the large steel doorway, “that’s what it’ll open. Just give me the word.”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed, taking a few light strides over to the terminal. “We don’t know where those synths are, you may as well have just alerted them to our presence.”

She visibly wilted. “I was just excited.”

“I could tell,” he said dryly. He went to turn back to the door, gun at the ready, when he threw her a look over his shoulder. “Good job, civilian.”

“Sorry,” she chuckled awkwardly. “And thank you.”

Danse wordlessly nodded and turned back to the doorway. She took it as a sign to proceed and hit the command on the console. The wiring enmeshed into steel began to whirr to life and she heard the internal locks begin to dislodge one by one. Just as she was about to get up, the electricity in the air changed. Out of instinct, she looked up, eyes scanning the area. Something in one of the observation windows caught her eye and she froze, reaching for her rifle at her back. A shadow flickered along the wall, obscured by clouds of dust and murky glass. She rose to her feet, an unsettling feeling washing over her.

Something was _not _right.

Then she saw it. A slender white figure, almost human looking, flittered past the window. An odd sensation settled between her ribs and she felt her mouth go dry.  
  
“Paladin Danse,” she hissed. “There’s something or _someone_ behind those doors.”  
  
He didn’t even look in her direction. Instead, he kept his eyes trained straight ahead. “I saw it too.”  
  
“What the hell is it?” There was an edge to her voice and she came out harsher than she intended. “Is it a synth?”  
  
“Affirmative,” he said after a tense pause. “The sound of the door must’ve attracted them to our location.”

“Fuck,” Olivia swore under her breath.

She watched with growing dread as the door inched open more and more, giving her a glimpse of what awaited them beyond its shiny exterior. A face appeared in the opening. It was so white and smooth that it almost looked like a mask. Robotic voices began to call out in unison, saying something about hostiles being detected. A deep chill settled into her bones at the sound.

“Get behind me,” Danse shouted. “Now!”

Olivia lunged over the railing and hid behind Danse, crouching with her rifle aimed. She was confident in her combat armor, but she wasn’t sure it would last a barrage of synths and their weapons. Here’s hoping Danse’s power armor gave her enough coverage.

“Get ready,” Danse said, his voice low. “No mercy.”

The doors opened.

* * *

Olivia’s boots thrummed against the walkway beneath her as she bounded up the stairwell. Red lights flickered in her peripherals as she moved, accompanied by the sound of a laser rifle charging, and she tried to stay focused on the task at hand. She had to reach the door. She had to get them out of here. The satchel at her side thumped against her hip as she ran. Every now and again she’d give it a good pat to make sure the deep range transmitter was still there. If she somehow managed to drop it while being pursued, she wasn’t going to turn back to grab it again. And Danse would be _pissed_.

She reached the top of the stairwell and cursed aloud. The door was barred and she felt frantic as she fumbled with the lock. Behind her, the cacophony of laser sounds began to dissipate, and she heard the sound of Danse’s clunky power armor shake the grate beneath them as he lumbered forward. He barked some command and she pulled out a small pistol from her pack, taking a quick aim at the lock. She’d only seen this done in movies but right now she didn’t really see an option. She shot at the lock and it scattered to the floor in a flurry of sparks.

Without pause, she threw the bar away and flung open the door, barreling out into the cool night air with Danse close on her heel. A light breeze nipped at her sweat laden face and she leaned forward, her hands pressed to her knees. She swallowed, trying to ignore the burning in her throat as she gulped down breath after breath.

The last of their pursuers followed suit and poured out from the doorway, but were quickly dispatched by a few rounds from her pistol.

“THOSE were synths?!” She turned to Danse, her voice hoarse and scratchy. He’d removed his helmet and his face mirrored her own. “Holy hell, they just kept coming. Even after I activated the jet and burned a good dozen of them. They were endless.”

She recalled firing her rifle at one synth in particular. The bullet shattered its faceplate and she watched, in horror, as it continued to come at her with no casing covering the wires. Those wide, glassy eyes and sparking mechanical skull rattled her at her core. She’d faced super mutants and raiders but that? Something knotted in her stomach.

"Also, I'm sorry about... you know, turning the jet on and cooking you like a Thanksgiving ham. Amazingly," she eyed him up and down, "your power armor isn't even singed."

"My power armor is resistant to extremely high temperatures. However, that does not give you a pass to pull stunts like that in the future." He gave her a reproving look. "Your method was particularly... effective, though."

"Damn right, it was."

She tried to give him a cocky, self-assured grin but she faltered, her mind drifting back to their synth ambush.

They were _very_ different from her detective friend back in Diamond City. In her defense, when you’re around Nick long enough, you start to forget what he is. He just becomes plain ol’ Nick, a detective straight out of a cheesy mystery noir novel. A man with enough snark for two lifetimes and a cigarette practically glued to his fingers.

But what she saw back there? They weren’t what she expected at all. So vastly different from Nick, it was hard to imagine he and they came from the same place.

To think her son might be held prisoner at the hands of mechanical monsters made her blood run cold. A wave of despair, of complete helplessness, washed over and she sucked in a sharp breath. This time, her inability to breathe stemmed from her own mental anguish and not from running up ten flights of stairs. She shook her head to banish the thoughts of Shaun trapped, surrounded by a sea of pale, emotionless faces. She shuddered.

“Are you listening to me, civilian?” Danse’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” She shook her head again. “Why the hell were they even there?” 

“I have no real way to answer that. But I’m assuming we weren’t the only ones in there searching for essential technology.” He went to wipe his forehead with his hand and paused, observing the metal of his second skin with a frown. “The Institute sends their synths to the Commonwealth for an array of reasons.”

“I guess that would explain why I found the transmitter on a synth corpse,” she pulled her bag from her shoulders and proffered it to Danse. “Good thing I had the presence of mind to even check.”

“Indeed,” Danse agreed, his face serious. He took the bag from her hand. “Too bad you didn’t have the presence of mind to take the service elevator, like I ordered you to.”

Olivia let out a low hum. “Look, if we had eliminated all of the synths, I would have gladly. But fleeing up the stairs seemed like the only way back to the surface in relatively one piece.”

“I recall telling you we were to do this quick, clean, and by the book.”

“Well,” she waved her hand flippantly, “sometimes things don’t go by the book and we have to improvise. I think fighting off an entire swarm of synths is a good enough reason. That place was like an angry beehive.”

Danse took a step towards her and she fought the urge to take a step back. One wrong move and he’d squash her under his power armor boot like a radroach. Instead, he stopped about a foot away, gazing down at her with an unreadable emotion. Was he about to yell at her? Scold her like an insolent child?

She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing when he grabbed a hold of her arm. Despite herself, a wave of panic rose through her and she yelped, trying to pull away. This was it. Three deployments and surviving stepping on a land mind and this was how she was going die: torn to shreds by this giant tin can with a beard. Her helpful nature was officially going to be the end of her.

“Stop squirming,” he said evenly. Gently, as if she was fragile, he brought her hand closer to his face for inspection. “You have laser burns all over your hands. Did you not notice?”

“I…” she blinked, her eyes falling to where his metallic one gripped onto her forearm. “No, I didn’t. Must’ve been the adrenaline.”

“Reckless,” he reproached her. “You’re a hell of a shot but you’re not very adept at following orders. You charged ahead, with no regard for your own safety, when I told you to remain behind me. The cover of my power armor would’ve aided you well.”

“I still survived. So what if I have a few burns?” She said defensively and tried to snatch her hand away. “For someone who has never encountered synths before, I think I did a pretty damn good job, Paladin.”

“We’ll have Scribe Haylen attend to those wounds as soon as you return,” he gave her a stern nod. “You really must improve your inability to pay attention.”

“Sorry, I was a little distracted with the literal horde of laser rifle-wielding robots coming at me,” she huffed.

She rolled her eyes and looked at her hands, her brows furrowing together. They were puffy and marred by red splotches, some of which had already blistered. She winced as she clenched her hands open and closed, testing the mobility. She made a mental note to pick up some gloves for future adventures where laser weapons might be involved.

Danse grumbled as he stomped forward. “I’m going to look around a little bit longer, if you would like to meet back at the police station.”

“Yeah,” she replied. Her hands were starting to ache. “I think the sooner I get a stimpak in my system the better.”

“Very well,” Danse swept the beam of light from his helmet back and forth before swiveling back around; stalking off to a smaller one a few yards away. “Dismissed.”


	6. Semper Fi, Do Or Die

**Anchorage, Alaska 2067.**

It was cold. Dark. Chilling tendrils of wind encircled her, seeping through the exposed pieces of her armor and biting her skin. Her combat helmet, paired with a pale shemagh, kept her head shielded from the elements, but it did little to ease her discomfort. Her eyes stung with each breeze and she chastised herself from forgoing her typical tactical goggles. But she felt her aim was better without anything hindering her view, often finding the goggles a blocky limitation.

The rifle between her gloved fingers shifted idly as she adjusted her position. The plane of her stomach laid flat on the snow covered hillside as she peered through the scope, sweeping the white blanketed valley beneath.

General Chase had started his campaign against the Chinese invasion and they were now in the throes of the first Sino-American war. While Olivia was a Marine, technically under the division of the US Navy, the Army General had the presence of mind to combine forces to ensure a powerful, full-frontal assault. The alliance was surprising but incredibly efficient, as the first wave of the Chinese army had been pushed back. It’d been a few months since the initial assault. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forget the sight of power armored soldiers holding the front lines, firing a barrage of bullets into the fray with bulky mini-guns.

She was on duty, falling into blocking action as ordered, only three hours into her shift. The commanders had utilized Marine snipers by issuing them along the perimeter, allowing them the safety of picking off any stray infiltrators and offer fire support. It felt odd being positioned there, of all places, instead of closer to the ground assault. Far in the distance, she could hear the ensuing gunfire as the Army continued the good fight. Although she itched to clash with the front lines again --- like she’d done the very first day-- stagnation and cautious relief mingled in her chest at her distance from the action.

A presence settled at her flank. She kept her eyes trained down her scope but managed to sneak a glance at her partner. He set up his rifle alongside her, taking a similar position, his belly flat against the ground.

“You’re late again, Espinoza.”

The man threw her a sheepish look with his eyes, his face obscured by a similar shemagh. “Not all of us can function after a night of drinking like you can, Longshot.”

At this, she clicked her tongue at his attempt to butter her up with her nickname. It was true, Olivia was damn good at holding her alcohol. She was sure it’d be the last time Espinoza challenged her to a game of quarters.

“I covered for your ass when Montgomery asked why you hadn’t reported in for your shift.”

“What’d you tell him this time?”

“May have told him you were overcome with a bout of food poisoning after having dinner in the mess. I mean, we all know that food is atrocious.” Olivia sniggered as she recalled going into explicit detail of her partner’s sickness. “I made sure to give a thorough account of your symptoms, particularly the frequency at which you evacuated your bowels.”

“And he bought it, huh?” Espinoza snorted, his face pressed to his rifle, the stock buried in the crook of his shoulder. “That’s surprising.”

It was hard to embarrass her partner, much to her chagrin. She’d hoped the implication that she told their superior officer that Espinoza practically shit himself would stir some kind of mortification from the man. By the tone of his voice, it sounded like she had failed. Yet again.

After Espinoza was pleased with how his rifle was set up, he rose slightly and produced a pair of binoculars from his pack. He peered at the expanse below with quiet precision, lingering on a single spot before lowering again.

“Could’ve used my spotter a few hours ago,” Olivia hummed as she did another sweep. “I can see Chase’s men. They’re either retreating, being pushed back, or both. Need a second eye to help me set up a shot if necessary.”

“What’s our fallback position?” He ignored the jibe, accustomed to her irritation at this point. His face disappeared in her blind spot as he peered down his scope.

Olivia pushed a map towards him silently. This was something they should’ve gone over before their shift, making sure they both knew the escape route and fallback position in the event of being separated. But she knew he was going to be out of commission for a bit, and took the liberty of marking their shared map just in case. He took it and gave it a once over, committing it to memory, before tucking it into his uniform.

“As thorough as ever.”

“One of us has to be.” A grumble left her throat and she pulled away, pressing her fingers into her eyes.

Espinoza noticed and took a moment to adjust the M-16 strapped to his back before inching over. “Need to swap scopes for a moment? Don’t want to get eye fatigue out here.”

“Thanks,” she muttered as they took turns observing and changed rifles.

As she leered down the spotter scope, adjusting to the clarity and power of it. The green hues of the night vision seemed less annoying through his scope, and she uttered a small ‘it’s not fair’ as she settled. She did a sweep once more, freezing the moment something caught her eye. A small, hazy dot moving along the horizon. It started to turn, then adjust and turn again, only to return to its original track. Then it repeated itself. She knew that formation.

_They’re running in a zig-zag. _

Trying to avoid being shot? Did that mean that person was aware of where they were positioned—or were they just running on assumption?

“Espinoza.”

“I see it,” he breathed. “I have a lock on the target.”

He prattled off wind trajectory and speed, letting her know the barometric pressure as she lined up her shot. Not wanting to be hasty, she let her finger ghost over trigger guard, wary that it was a rogue infantryman. As the person neared, keeping up with its zig-zag pattern, she took notice of the uniform. Camouflaged for snow, a white cloth draped across their face, large goggles over that. It was a member of the Red Army. A flush of electricity coursed through her limbs and she swallowed.

The trick here was to predict where the figure was going to be instead of weaving along with it, seeing as they were trying to throw her and Espinoza off with constant movement. A few more moments of observation and she let out a breath, finger squeezing the trigger. The figure dropped almost instantly, rich pools of crimson splattering against the snow. Their body lurched and rolled from the sheer force of her shot before coming to a dead stop. Pun intended.

But something didn’t feel right, it settled in her bones and inched down her spine. That was far too easy. Had it been a distraction? Everything in her body was screaming at her to move, as if there was some invisible specter waiting to swallow them up.

She felt it before she saw it. An explosion. A red flicker, some smoke, and the ground rumbled beneath them. A large plume of fire burst into the air, lighting up the night in overwhelming flashes, licking the clouds in heated tendrils.

“What the fuck was that?” Her partner looked at her, bewildered.

Another explosion, this one closer than the last. Without second thought, Olivia jumped to her feet and snagged her rifle, sliding down the embankment towards their fallback position. Espinoza followed her lead and they moved silently, as close to the ground as they could manage. Sweat trickled down her face and neck, trying to ignore the way her heart rammed against her rib cage. Another one rocked the ground, only a few yards away, and she threw a look over her shoulder.

Through the waning yellow light of the fire, she noticed Espinoza had stumbled from the impact and was currently knee deep in snow, trying to push himself up. _Fuck. No. No way._ With a growl she turned on her heel and rushed back to her partner, snagging him by his arm and giving him a powerful tug. His body was rigid, his eyes glittering reflections of the flames as he stared up at her. Those dark ebony orbs were glossy and unseeing and something unsettling coiled in her stomach.

With another pull, Espinoza was on his feet. “Move your ass, soldier!”

Wary that he’d collapse again, she kept a firm hand wrenched into his uniform, practically dragging him as they ran. The secondary position came into view and she threw him behind the rock face, watching him slide against the stone until he was a crumpled heap in the snow. Not having time to set up her bipod, she decided to kneel, eyes tearing across the fire engrossed valley as she switched off her night vision.

Against the warmth and the unnatural rays, she spotted a flurry of silhouettes. Some were power armor clad and others were not. A figure was advancing on one of the power armored soldiers, a large gun between their hands, a war cry spewing from their mouth. With a growl she fired, watching silhouette buckle and drop. She continued firing in a flurry of quick movements, shifting as necessary, overtly aware of her lack of cover.

More of them approached from the darkness, goggles gleaming, a motley of swords and rifles. It looked as if they were being spawned from within the shadows; like monsters teetering on the edge of reality and nothingness. She tried to take out as many as she could before reaching for her radio.

“This is Private First Class Olivia Saint. Authorization Tango. Victor. Seven. Nine. Three. Do you copy?”

Static crackled over the airwaves.

_Shit. _

“I repeat. This is Private First Class Olivia Saint. Authorization Tango. Victor. Seven. Nine. Three. Currently engaging hostiles and under IDF. Requesting an E and E. Do you copy?”

Either everyone on base was dead or something in those explosions was fucking with her radio transceiver. Fear gripped her chest and she turned her attention back to the field. The onslaught from the Reds was continuing with increased urgency.

One power armored soldier at the point swung his mini-gun at an advancing figure, knocking the person back with incredible force, releasing a swell of 5mm shots as the gun whirred while another Red lunged for him. A few other soldiers guarded his flank with suppressing fire, parrying oncoming attacks with swift precision. She could hear faint battle cries over the rumbling and crackling flames.

Olivia glanced at her partner again. He was trembling, eyes gazing off into nothing particular, a sick pallor to the exposed skin around his eyes. Something was not right. Espinoza had never reacted like this before. With growing concern, she approached him and crouched to his level, placing a timid hand on his shoulder.

She yanked her shemagh down. “Ben? Can you hear me?”

Weakly, he turned his gaze up to her, but she wasn’t quite sure he could hear her.

“It’ll be okay. I’ve got your six, just… stay with me, okay?”

She scrambled up to the peak of the rock face, boots slipping and sliding against the wetness, her nails digging through the material of her gloves for traction. At her vantage point, she lowered on to her belly, taking aim at the field. From this location she had a better view of exactly what was happening.

What she saw was nothing short of apocalyptic.

Random patches of fire scattered across the horizon, bodies of slain enemies and allies alike littering the snow like ink blots. It looked like a scene straight out of _Dante’s Inferno_. What ring of hell were they currently occupying?

It appeared Chase’s men were pushed back, like she’d predicted earlier, and they brought the fight right to the US’ doorstep. An unsettling calm washed over her and she breathed, finding her center. The flames seemed to flicker in one direction every few moments and she stilled, gauging wind speed and locking her eyes on a figure approaching their location.

_Pop, pop, pop. _

The force of her weapon rocked through her body and she pressed against the recoil, picking off Reds one by one. Something bulbous and shiny soared through the air and she watched with growing trepidation as it neared the few remaining men in power armor. Licking her lips, she took aim and fired, watching as the projectile detonated into a blistering heap of orange and red hues. For a moment, the vale was lit up as bright as day, giving her a sharp view of the rock formations surrounding them. It was eerily silent, and she briefly wondered if she was dead, before the sound of its eruption tore through her skull.

A boiling aftershock trembled through the valley, sending her insides into a curdling mass of nausea and unbridled pain. Had she been struck by shrapnel? Was she shot? The agony slowly bloomed throughout her nerves, alighting each one as it went, meticulous and cruel in its tedium. Everything in front of her blurred and she clenched her eyes shut, hoping the heat and all her discomfort would abate.

But it refused. It prickled her skin and roiled inside of her chest, splitting her at the seams, threatening to rip her apart piece by piece. Whatever the fuck that was, it was shockingly powerful. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

She forced herself to crack open her eyes, fighting against her body’s instinct to curl into a ball. To her surprise, the field was relatively empty. The power armored men were locked in place and leaning on one knee, as if bracing themselves. A lone figure caught her eye in the distance, wobbling unsteadily beneath the weight of a large object hoisted over its shoulder. It fumbled with the object, fingers roaming and frantic. Something shiny within it glinted and she suddenly found her mouth very dry.

Could that be another projectile?

A single shot to the figure’s mass was enough to subdue them and they flopped over, limp, the weapon over their shoulder toppling with them.

Olivia wished she could feel relief, wished she could roll onto her back and let her body process everything that had just happened. But she couldn’t. Her fingers hovered over the trigger, each breath that rolled out of her producing another painful twinge in her lungs. Her stomach. Her throat. God, it felt like she was being cooked from the inside out.

After what felt like an eternity staring, eyes searching the expansive void beyond razed ground, she slumped. Her face pressed into the snow and she moaned. Everything was wrong. This was wrong. She shouldn’t be here. She should be at home, with Nate, curled up on the sofa and watching television. A flurry of alarm brushed the front of her mind.

When she clashed with the front lines on that very first day, she wondered, amidst the chaos and the blood and the ruthless slaughter, if she’d even leave behind a body for Nate to mourn. Her mind traveled to that place now, face crushed into the snow, body reeling from the pain. It felt like she was dying. Slowly. Alone on a hillside. She only hoped that the power armored men in the field would eventually discover her remains; if the snowfall didn’t consume her first. 

No. She couldn’t do that here. She wouldn’t die here. She wouldn’t let Espinoza die here.

Trembling arms pushed her up, fingers swollen and numb beneath her gloves, her vision fuzzy with dancing halos in her peripherals.

Needed to get her partner to safety. Needed to keep pushing forward. Needed to see Nate again.

“Ben?” She called out through clenched teeth. Silence. She peered over the ledge. “Espinoza! Answer me, damn it!”

With growing concern, she slid back down the rock face, meeting the ground with a forceful thud. Every bone in her leg screamed in protest at the impact and she faltered. The fresh pain unfurled another wave of nausea in her core.

She felt bile creep its way up the back of her throat, tongue tightening, mouth salivating. It was unstoppable. Her stomach lurched. It twisted and burned and she retched, forcing a hand up to her lips as if that was enough to tame it. Vomit seeped from her nose and her mouth and her eyes watered from the sheer force of it. Acid burned the membranes of her nose and she gasped for air, only able to suck in a quick breath before the contents of her stomach rose once more.

A sudden, blinding light shone in her direction and she flinched, raising a lone hand in defense. A looming figure in power armor peered around the outcropping. The first thing she noticed was the unique looking Gauss rifle clutched in the figure’s hands, which was directly pointed at her.

“State your identity.” A crackled voice broke the silence.

“Private First Class Olivia Saint,” she rasped. A weak finger pointed to her partner, who was still in a crumpled ball a few feet away. “That’s Private First Class Benjamin Espinoza. He’s injured.”

The ray of light followed the direction of her hand. It swept over Espinoza’s form for a second before returning to her. Concerned eyes stayed on her partner, willing to see a rise of the chest, a twitch, anything to indicate he was still alive. If she wasn’t worried about spooking the man adjacent with sudden movement, she’d be at Espinoza’s side.

“What is your business here, soldier?”

A flare of indignation rose within her and she attempted to scoff, wincing when her throat clenched in response.

“We were assigned here. Blocking action.” She thumbed at the sniper rifle dangling from its strap at her back. “I offered fire support when the assault began.”

There was a suffocating silence that followed. The impassive visor of the person’s helmet stared at her in quiet deliberation and she felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny.

“A pair of Marine snipers, eh?” The voice crackled again and the person lowered their rifle. “I’m Corporal Eddard. US Army. Were you the one that took out that last Red bastard?”

“The one with that giant projectile weapon?” He nodded in affirmation. “Yeah, I managed to get him. Do you guys know what the fuck kind of explosive he was using?”

“Negative. But the Geiger counter in my suit registered a lethal burst of radiation upon detonation.”

Radiation? Fuck. That explained her body’s reaction. Her combat armor had some lead beneath the ballistic weave, but it likely wasn’t enough to suppress the amount she was exposed to.

“We need medevac. Now.”

“Our contact with command has been compromised. I suspect the device let off a nuclear electromagnetic pulse, which has temporarily disabled our radios.” Eddard slung his weapon over his shoulder and lumbered towards her. “I can escort you and your partner back to the base.”

Reluctantly, she agreed. Eddard moved towards her partner and scooped him up in his large metal arms. It was difficult to move but she managed to follow him, listening as he barked a few orders at the lingering members of his platoon. A fog rolled across her brain as she trudged along, arms dangling limply at her sides.

Eddard’s men seemed to fall back and she watched as they meticulously dragged bodies into neat rows. Young faces stared upward at nothing, battered and marred, their mouths agape and frozen in their last moments. A few of them were mutilated beyond recognition, their heads split open and glistening, blotted with coagulated viscera and fragmented bone.

Olivia tried to force away the sensation of despair that drenched her soul at the sight of them all.

An hour passed before they reached the base, and it took everything within her power not to crumble beneath her exhaustion. There was a flurry of soldiers rushing around the perimeter and they were waved in hastily, ushered to the medical facility without hesitation.

Montgomery was awaiting their arrival, his stern face twisted into something akin to anger. Frustration. And oddly enough, disappointment. She stalked passed him without a second look, too worried and too sick to receive a tongue lashing.

Eddard placed Espinoza on an examination table and she watched in mute horror as her partner’s body splayed limply. She moved to his side instantly, wrenching her glove off and placing two icy fingers on his neck. A lump wedged itself in her throat as she waited for the thrum of his heart beneath her touch. Finally, a gush of air passed her lips as she felt a gentle response to her plying. His heartbeat was weak, like a string being gently plucked, but it was there. He was alive. 

A nurse was suddenly pulling her away, their masked face muttering something that she couldn’t hear. For a moment she fought against them, unwilling to leave Espinoza’s side. But with their insistence, she was forced backward and onto a gurney against the far wall. The medical tent was bustling with nurses and doctors, tending to any and all injured soldiers that managed to return from the front lines.

Impassive eyes worked over her form as they stripped her armor away piece by piece. Her skin felt hot and sweat coated her in a thick sheen. Nausea continued to churn and twist in her gut, her vision fading from sudden clarity and back to bleariness. Shadows crept along the peripherals of her gaze and she tried to suppress a frightened whimper.

They pulled the privacy curtain once they started to remove her uniform.

“Private Saint, can you hear me?”

Olivia twisted her head to the medic, a lone face in the dark tunnel of her eyesight. “Yes… sorry.”

“Corporal Eddard said you were exposed to a high dose of radiation. We’re currently hooking you up to radaway intravenously. Are you experiencing any alarming symptoms?”

“Nausea. It feels like there’s a knife twisting in my stomach, and my head…” a hiss escaped her throat as another nurse slid a needle into her vein. “The inside of my skull feels like it’s on fire.”

“Those sensations should abate as the radaway works its way into your system. We’re going to apply some stimpaks, just to be safe.”

“Is… is my vision supposed to be fading in and out?”

The medic seemed to tilt their head to the side in brief consideration. “Acute radiation poisoning can present with many symptoms. Nausea. Vomiting. Dizziness. Fatigue. Low blood pressure. Infection. Fever. It’s possible your vision might be temporarily affected any of those.”

Well, that didn’t make her feel better.

They injected her in a few locations with stimpaks and she relished the way it soothed her aching body with a sigh. A separate medic continued to work her over, applying leads to her chest and monitoring her vitals. Olivia noticed that her heart rate was incredibly high, but it wasn’t much of a surprise. The adrenaline that had been surging through her began to subside and it gave way to a torrent of anxiety. Her hands trembled as she clenched and unclenched them, watching the way her skin blanched over her knuckles. The skin had begun to crack and split from the cold.

The privacy curtains rustled and she looked up to see Sergeant Montgomery. The anger that had been on his face was replaced with something unreadable, his jaw working beneath his pale complexion. He locked his hands behind his back and stood straight, eyeing her up and down. Olivia attempted to rise and salute but was stopped by his raised hand.

“At ease, soldier. You’re injured. I appreciate the formality but please remain as you are.”

She regarded him warily.

“From my understanding, you and your partner were compromised during your assignment. It seems the infantry at the front lines were pushed back and you offered support fire.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Espinoza,” Montgomery nodded behind him. “What happened?”

Olivia licked her dry lips. “At approximately 21:00 hours, we spotted a rogue Red Army hostile. After we terminated our target, we encountered indirect fire from an unknown source. We were attempting to retreat to our fallback position when he collapsed.”

“Were there any apparent injuries?”

She paused. If her partner had reacted strongly to their proximity to explosions, and was indeed a victim of shell shock, she was worried he’d be removed from active duty if she disclosed that with her superior. Espinoza was her only friend, shit, he was her_ partner_ for god’s sake. He had her back and she had his. There was no way she going to train some rookie take his place. 

“None, sir. I think he had the wind knocked out of him from the impact of a particularly close IED. I managed to drag him behind some cover before all hell broke loose.”

“Was he exposed to radiation as well?”

“Yes. He was in the same vicinity as me when the detonation occurred. I don’t know why I maintained consciousness and he did not.”

Montgomery’s eyes lingered on her face, peeling back the layers with intense analyzation. She made sure to school her features, hoping he wasn’t able to discern the blatant lie she had just fed him. A slight roll of his shoulders sent his eyes towards the floor and she gazed at the top of his dark head with growing apprehension.

“I spoke with Corporal Eddard, who bore witness to your actions.” He finally spoke. “I am impressed by your performance, Private. Not only did you maintain your position, but you protected your fellow soldiers in a brilliant display of loyalty and valor. We should all be so lucky to have a soldier like you at our side.”

Olivia was temporarily stunned by his words of praise. That was the last thing she had expected. A lecture on her recklessness, maybe. But this? Her jaw went slack as she gaped. Montgomery cleared his throat and she shook her head, regaining her composure.

“Thank you, sir. I simply acted on instinct.”

“You have one hell of an instinct, Saint.”

At this, Olivia rewarded him with a dry chuckle. “Is Espinoza okay?”

“He’s alive, thanks to you.” Montgomery’s eyes were practically bursting with pride. “I’ll inform the medics that you are allowed to visit him once he’s stable. For now, I want a detailed report on the events that transpired.” He tossed a folder onto the foot of her gurney.

“I have to ask…” she trailed off for a moment, wondering if she was overstepping her boundaries. “Do you know what kind of weapon they were using? I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“We have our suspicions. We’re currently compiling evidence and there will be a briefing in the morning. _Mandatory briefing_, Private. Don’t miss it.”

“Yes, sir.”

She watched Montgomery’s figure disappear behind the curtains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of research on snipers for this chapter and I do apologize if the end of it seemed a bit blocky, I'm still working on my flow. Also, I know the Fat Man wasn't in commercial use until around 2076-77, towards the end of the Great War, but I'm going somewhere with this I promise.


	7. Initiate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! I was out with the flu and I'm still recovering. This chapter is also going to be a smidge shorter than the others, and it's kind of filler, but hold on! After this chapter, things will start to move faster.

By the time she reached the police station, her entire body was screaming at her. Muscles she forgot she even had were alight with complaint as she moved. Her hands seemed to only get worse the more they were exposed to the elements. There were a few other injuries she hadn’t been aware of before. Every time she’d misstep, her abdomen would twist and she’d feel a shock of pain radiate through her. A rib was most likely broken, she was sure of it. A vague memory of being swatted with an electrified club crossed her mind and she grimaced.

The look Haylen had given her when she stumbled through the doors alone, looking worse for wear, would forever be cemented in her mind. Last time she saw someone look at her like that, it was when she stumbled home four hours past curfew and her mother lectured her ear off.

“What happened?” Haylen moved towards her. Her face was twisted into an expression of concern once she saw the condition of her hands. 

“Where’s Paladin Danse?” Rhys stood up from his spot against the wall. His tone was accusatory and Olivia felt a pang of frustration shoot through her.

“He decided to stay back and look for more salvageable material at ArcJet. He suggested I return here and have Haylen look at my wounds.”

“Look at your hands,” Haylen remarked, wrapping her cool fingers around Olivia’s wrists. “Were you using them to shield yourself?”

“I don’t really remember,” Olivia responded sheepishly. “Everything happened all at once and I didn’t really notice until after we were out that I’d been hurt. I think my rib is broken too.”

“What happened?” It was Rhys’ turn to ask this time. He walked up to the two girls, peeking over Haylen’s shoulder at Olivia’s hands. “Those look like laser burns.”

“They are.” She started to feel a little too on display. “I have a few stimpaks in my bag. My hands are in too much pain for me to reach in and apply one myself.”

Haylen went to reach for her bag, gesturing for her to sit on a bedroll against the far corner of the lobby. Olivia obliged and sank to the floor, letting out a hiss of pain as she bumped her ribs against the wall. Yep. Broken.

“The building was relatively empty until we got into the back room.” She grimaced as Haylen stabbed a stimpak into her wrist. “God, I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that feeling.”

“What happened when you reached the back room?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing major,” she said flippantly, intentionally stalling to get a rise out of Rhys. It seemed to work when he crossed his arms over his broad chest with a glare. “Just a horde of synths wielding various laser weaponry. And electrified clubs, if you can believe it.”

“Synths!” The man hissed through clenched teeth. “What were those bastards doing there?”

“Paladin Danse seems to think they were probably there for the same reason we were,” she raised her arm to allow Haylen to assess her broken rib. “Technology.”

“And you just left him there with no backup? Tch,” Rhys started to pace, his chiseled features twisted and irate. “This is what happens when we rely on an untrained scavver with a hero complex.”

“We cleared the place, as far as I’m aware. Besides, I was just doing as I was ordered, Knight Rhys. Would you have me defy the paladin?” She shot back.

“I would rather Paladin Danse have a second gun with him in case _more_ abominations decide to show up.”

“Rhys,” Haylen shot over her shoulder with a reproving look. “Now is _not_ the time.”

For a moment, it looked like he was about to argue with the scribe, his muscles tensed and clenched beneath his uniform. But instead he just let out a frustrated growl and stormed off, ducking behind the fractured wall to a room adjacent. That guy should probably watch his blood pressure.

“Ignore him,” the scribe said gently, sensing Olivia’s indignation. “We’ve lost a lot of people and I think he’s just concerned.”

“He’s got a shitty way of showing it.”

At that, Haylen’s eyebrows rose a fraction and she laughed. “Well, you’re not wrong there. You also weren’t wrong about that broken rib. You’ll need to remove your armor and jumpsuit so I can access the site.”

Olivia obliged and peeled away her combat armor, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor with a clang. It was easier said than done when it came to removing the upper half of her jumpsuit. Each time she attempted to wiggle her arm out of the sleeve on the injured side, she would jolt in pain, every movement like an electric shock to her nerves.

After much maneuvering and maybe a few muttered obscenities, she managed to get the material rolled to her waist. If it weren’t for her ratty tank top, she’d be even more exposed and on display than before. Haylen’s diligent fingers pulled the hem of her top aside, exposing the purplish bruise hiding beneath it. To her surprise, the bruise wasn’t in the shape of the electric baton she’d been struck with.

The scribe gripped another stimpak and dislodged the needle’s protective cover with her teeth. She paused only for a moment, probably gauging the appropriate angle, before pushing the needle into Olivia’s skin. The stinging was replaced by a soothing wave of warmth and she let out a small breath of relief.

“Thanks, Haylen.”

“It’s no problem,” she smiled sweetly back at her. “Are you hungry?”

Olivia pulled the tank top back over the bruise and stood, tying the sleeves of her jumpsuit together at her waist. The scribe didn’t wait for her to respond as she crossed the room and withdrew two cans of Cram, gesturing for Olivia to come closer.

“Here,” she tossed the can to Olivia, which the latter caught with ease. “On the house.”

“You spoil me.” Olivia twisted the top open and accepted the cutlery offered to her by the scribe.

They were half way through their meals, if you could call it that, in companionable silence when the doors to the police station swung open. Danse’s bulky frame appeared around the corner, his giant metal boots creaking along the floorboards. He dislodged his helmet and rested it on a desk at his flank. Haylen set her can down and sprung to her feet, doing some sort of salute across her chest with a closed fist. Olivia blinked and stood, recalling a similar reverence from her days as a private. Any time a superior would enter the room she’d salute and stand at attention. Things really hadn’t changed much in two-hundred years. 

“Paladin Danse… glad to see you alive and well, sir.” The scribe smiled softly to herself, closing the distance between them.

At the sound, Rhys had appeared around the corner and saluted the Paladin in a similar fashion. “Are we in luck, sir?”

“Mission accomplished. We have the transmitter.”

“Finally, some good news for a change. Nice work, sir,” Rhys’ voice was amicable and no longer filled with the tension from earlier. Seemed he only saved that for when he talked to her.

“I didn’t do it alone.” The Paladin’s deep voice rumbled to his team, taking a glance around the room until his gaze settled on Olivia. “Civilian, let’s have a word in private.”

Without waiting for a response, his hulking form lumbered down a hallway by the main desk. Olivia was surprised he was able to amble around this small station so freely. Did he ever take that thing off? She pictured Danse as a futuristic cyborg who’d unwittingly been fused to his armor in some tragic accident. A chuckle surfaced from somewhere in her throat and she shook her head, suddenly realizing that both the scribe and knight were staring at her, waiting. She cast them a rueful grin and quickly followed the Paladin.

He must’ve heard her previous thoughts, it was the only explanation, because when she turned the corner she quickly realized Danse was no longer a giant tin can. He was out of his power armor. Large with squared shoulders, he still loomed over her by a good foot or so. He’d forgone his hood and she noticed, sheepishly, that he had a spectacularly full head of thick black hair. It fell in messy pieces, disheveled from the friction of that ridiculously skin-tight hood, but it looked… good. A good messy. A tendril fell against his forehead and he quickly brushed it back in place with a gloved hand.

“Your team really respects you,” Olivia said softly as she leaned against the doorway.

Danse suddenly seemed much more human. Vulnerable. She watched the way the orange fabric of his jumpsuit clung to shapely arms and a broad chest as he moved about the room. A sudden heat sprung to her face and she looked at her boots, urging herself to _stop staring at the Paladin_.

“And I respect them,” he said gruffly, resituating some items at the foot of his power armor. When seemed satisfied he rose and approached her. “How are your injuries?”

Olivia brought her hands out and showed Danse the bandages. He nodded impassively and watched, a crease forming between his brows, as she smoothed gentle hand over her ribcage. Even though she barely ghosted the area with her fingertips, she still instinctively flinched. If only those stimpaks worked faster.

“Seems I had more than just a few burns. I broke a rib too. Damn synths.”

“They are formidable in large numbers,” he gave a small nod. “You could’ve avoided sustaining such injuries if you had followed my orders, civilian. You were reckless and brazen and you dove head-first into crossfire without thinking.”

A flare of indignation coiled in her gut and she opened her mouth to contest his accusations. Maybe if he understood _she_ was the one who was accustomed to leading, not following, he’d give her a break. But Danse silenced her with just one, steely glare. Man, he could give Montgomery a run for his money.

“Regardless, I thought we worked pretty well as a team.”

The praise was unexpected and felt a swell of satisfaction. Although, she had to admit she agreed with his sentiment. When she _was_ adhering to his orders of using him as cover, they worked well in tandem. She would pick off the synths at a distance and he would polish off the ones that charged them head on. To her, it felt like a rhythm that was almost second nature to step in line to.

“Despite not following orders as closely as I’d like, it was refreshing to work with a civilian who could properly handle themselves… well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“That being said,” He ignored her inquiry, “I think we have two important matters to discuss.”

“We do?”

“Yes, we do." He nodded. "First, I’d like to compensate you for your assistance during this operation.” He reached for the bag he’d been fumbling with earlier and produced a weapon. “I think you’ll find this weapon useful.”

He shoved his laser rifle into her hands and she took hold of it, looking up at him questioningly. “You’re giving me your laser rifle? Why? I mean, thank you, first and foremost. But _why_? Don’t you need this?”

“I can make another easily,” he spoke as if it was nothing. He shifted from one foot to another. “It’s called Righteous Authority. It’s my own personal modification of the standard Brotherhood laser rifle,” he looked at the weapon in her marred hands with a twinge of pride. “May it serve you well in battle.”

“This wasn’t necessary, Paladin.” She looked down at Righteous Authority, a small smile forming on her lips. “But thank you, again. This was incredibly thoughtful.”

“You’re very welcome. I wouldn’t give it to you unless I knew it was in capable hands.” He cleared his throat. “There’s another thing I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.” She was feeling in higher spirits now that this surly soldier had gifted her something. That and being above ground, far away from those white faced motorized specters.

“I wanted to make you a proposal,” he started. “We had a lot thrown at us back there, our op could’ve ended in disaster. But you kept your cool and handled it like a solider. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ve got what it takes--”

“For what?” She swallowed apprehensively.

“I’m trying to tell you, if you’d let me finish.” Danse said, slightly incensed. “Look, Becker. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices ahead of you. You can spend the rest of your life wandering place to place, trading your hand, helping out those farmers and settlers for a meager reward—if any.”

He paused, gauging her reaction. Olivia gestured for him to carry on.

“Or,” he continued, his dark eyes boring into her face, “you could join the Brotherhood of Steel and make your mark on the world. You’ve got an obvious talent, civilian. With a little bit of honing, I can see you going far.”

Olivia felt her jaw drop an imperceptible amount. She had no idea that wandering into a random police station infested with ghouls would end up affording her this opportunity. Sure, asking for her help on a run to a nearby facility was one thing. That was easy. But actually asking her to join?

“Paladin Danse,” she started politely, her hands still clutching Righteous Authority. She ran an idle finger along the barrel, not really looking at the man in front of her. “No offense, but I’m not even really sure what the Brotherhood is. We didn’t discuss it much before we left for this mission.”

“That can be easily resolved,” he said with confidence.

He explained, in a long-winded speech, what the Brotherhood was. How they were formed from the ashes of former military members right after the war. He elaborated on what they stood for and what their goals were for the commonwealth. It felt much like the day she signed her life away to the Marines.

Olivia remembered being eighteen and stumbling into a recruitment office, feeling lost. Scared. Hopeless. She’d just been kicked out of her home and had nowhere to go, a lone bag of all her worldly objects slung over her shoulder. A recruitment officer, whose name she wished she could remember, sat her down and gave her a cup of coffee. Calmed her down. Discussed her options. At that point, she couldn’t afford her dreams of attending CIT. The military was all she had.

It’d been the best decision of her life.

“So,” Danse pulled her from her contemplation. “What do you say?”

She stared down at the weapon clutched between her bandaged fingers. It was smooth, meticulously polished, with so many custom modifications she lost count. A small Brotherhood emblem was engraved into the side and she traced it with her index finger.

What would Preston think? She’d been so swept up in helping these soldiers that she hadn’t even gone to aid the other settlement. It was true that her commitment to the Minutemen had been lacking, it was evident on all of the resident’s faces each time she swung by Sanctuary. Sure, she’d done a lot for them in her time away from the vault. But the Minutemen were a work in progress and she’d felt stagnant in her search for Shaun. Part of her thought if she just kept busy, helped where she could, that things would fall into place. But maybe joining the Brotherhood was a necessary step. They might help her in ways the Minutemen couldn’t.

She was far from a believer, but there was an adage that says when God closes one door, he opens another.

“I’d be honored.” She looked up at the Paladin. 

Danse’s eyes seem to shine a little brighter in response and he smiled. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Without another word, he stalked past her and back down the hallway and into the foyer. A mingling of excitement and apprehension fluttered in her chest as she followed him. Rhys and Haylen were conversing quietly amongst one another when they approached, standing at attention when they caught sight of Danse. He came to a stop a few feet from them and she did the same, making sure to remain slightly behind her new superior.

“Haylen… Rhys,” he nodded to each of them respectively. Before he continued he threw a look at Olivia over his shoulder, beckoning her with a look. She obliged and stood at his flank. “It’s time to introduce the newest member of our recon team. She shows a lot of promise, and with the proper guidance, I think she has the potential of becoming one of the best.”

Olivia tried to fight the tingle of embarrassment that nipped at her cheeks at the praise. “Thank you, Paladin. I promise to not let you down.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Haylen said warmly. “Getting that transmitter was enough.”

Haylen’s kind words settled over Olivia like a comforting blanket and she smiled easily. But any good feelings were quickly erased when she looked over to Rhys’ surly, almost disapproving, frown.

“So you decided to stay, huh? I expected you to take your payment and run.”

Olivia took a few deep breaths to try and settle her fraying nerves before responding. If she wanted this cynical asshole to accept her, then she’d have to make it clear that his jabs wouldn’t have an effect on her. That’d only encourage him.

“What’s wrong, Knight Rhys? Upset that I’m staying?” She said coolly, making sure her eyes were trained on his face.

“Maybe,” he inched closer. His voice was calm but she could sense the thinly veiled anger bubbling underneath. “Got enough trouble stomping muties and ferals. I don’t need something else to worry about.”

Before Olivia could respond, Paladin Danse’s booming voice cut through them.

“Rhys, that’s enough.” He barked, using that ‘shut the fuck up’ tone she was starting to enjoy. “Like it or not, you’re going to have to learn to work together.”

She felt a smirk tug at her mouth at the absolute petulant expression that befell the knight before her, but it quickly died when she noticed Danse had rounded on her as well. _Dad is angry_.

“And you,” his eyes narrowed an imperceptible amount, “you need to understand what it means to be a part of the Brotherhood. We’re not soldiers of fortune. We’re an army and we’ve dedicated our lives to uphold a strict code of ethics. If you intend to stay within our ranks, you need to obey our tenets without question.”

Olivia faltered for a moment, vaguely recalling Danse’s long winded speech only moments before. He’d mentioned their code of ethics and what they stood for, but hadn’t really gone into detail. It was something she’d have to learn as she went, because she was _not _asking him to clarify right now. 

“Understood,” she replied flatly, feeling Rhys’ eyes burn into her.

“Now, since I know you’re eager to get started, I’ll get right to the point.”

She looked up and stood at attention.

“I only expect two things from anyone under my command. Honesty and respect. You fall in line, you stay in line. I give you an order, _you follow it_,” at that he gave her a pointed look and she deflated. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Yes, Paladin.” It felt weird being so serious again. Part of being in the military was shrugging off certain aspects of who you were while on duty. As far as anyone was concerned, you were just a well-oiled cog in the machine. “I think I can manage that.”

Danse seemed pleased with her response. “Before I release you to Haylen and Rhys for your assignments, there’s one last order of business. From this moment forward, I’m granting you the rank of Initiate.”

She perked a bit at that, keen eyes bouncing between her teammates and back to him. She didn’t really know what significance that held, but she was interested nonetheless.

“Really?”

He seemed satisfied with her enthusiasm. “Yes, Initiate Becker. It’s only a training rank. I am not permitted to grant ranks higher than that.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Thanks aren’t necessary,” he raised his hand. “Just continue excelling at your duties, soldier.” 

“Ad Victoriam, Initiate.” Haylen saluted her with a wide grin, her green eyes sparkling. “Welcome to the Brotherhood.”

“She doesn’t even know what that means, Haylen.” Rhys grumbled.

Danse threw the knight a warning glance. “’Ad Victoriam’ means ‘To Victory.’ In our eyes, defeat is unacceptable because we’re fighting for the future of mankind.”

“Ah,” she nodded in understanding. “Latin. There’s another Latin saying I learned years ago that’s stuck with me. ‘Semper Fidelis.’ It means ‘Always Loyal.’” 

The paladin seemed to consider what she said for a moment before giving a nod. “A military saying, from before the war?”

Olivia was surprised that he knew that. “I believe so, sir.”

“Honorable words to live by.” He nodded. “You report for your assignments first thing in the morning.”

Olivia practiced her salute as she was dismissed, only to have Haylen giggle and correct the positioning of her fist. She threw the scribe a sheepish grin and rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a flash of embarrassment prickle her skin.

She placed a bedroll against the far wall, away from the others, and set about cleaning her rifle. She had no idea what was in store for her in morning but, for the first time in months, she was excited for what awaited her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for not doing Rhys justice. I can't seem to write his character, but I'm trying!


	8. To Victory

**The Commonwealth**   
**2287**

It’d been a week since she’d first stumbled upon Recon Squad Gladius. A week of Rhys barking assignments at her and spending whatever spare time she had assisting Haylen scavenge for technology. To her exasperation it seemed they expected her to solo each run, and _complete_ each run in a timely fashion. Charging into mutant and ghoul riddled buildings and metros alone was not the exciting experience she had been anticipating. She really hoped this was going to pay off.

This time, Rhys had sent her on an extermination run to Hubris Comics. The moment she crossed the threshold, it became evident that the assignment wasn’t going to be simple. Screams and groans reverberated from every corny of the bereft building; ghouls pouring out of each opening and crevice like cockroaches. If it weren’t for her grenades and the laser rifle Danse had gifted to her, she would’ve been lunch for some hungry post-war zombies.

This assignment also blessed her with her first encounter with a Glowing One. They’d been mentioned before, in casual conversation with Preston, but never had she imagined they looked like _that_. She didn’t really know what she expected. It was like a giant glow stick with gangly limbs and gnashing teeth.

Those sickly, wet footsteps and eerie green skin were almost enough for her to say ‘fuck it’ and abandon the mission. It wasn’t like Rhys was going to get off of his ass to walk over and check her handiwork. It would’ve been easy to lie and say she eradicated all the abominations. But, much like the way most of her life went, fleeing from the ghoul wasn’t in the cards for her. Some frantically placed mines and half-cocked grenade throwing was enough to obliterate its legs. From there, all she did was repeatedly fire at its head until it stopped moving.

She idly brushed away at a smear of green blood on the cuirass of her combat armor, wincing when her arm throbbed in response. A ghoul managed to place a bite on the exposed material between her arm guards. It wasn’t the first time this week she was returning with injuries and it wouldn’t be the last. A groan escaped her chest at the thought of enduring another one of Haylen’s safety lectures.

The doors to the police station swung open and she trudged up the stairs, her boots dragging fragments of dirt and viscera across the floorboards.

“Honey, I’m home!” She called out, unloading her bag and weapons onto a desk.

At this, Rhys peeked his head out from the back rooms and scowled. “About time.” He rounded the corner and tossed an ammo box filled with caps at her. “Took you long enough.”

“I missed you too.” Olivia jiggled the box of caps before tucking them into her bag. “There’s nothing I love more than returning from my assignments to your bright, sunny face.”

Rhys’ scowl deepened and he mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like ‘_fucking nuisance’_ before returning to the back rooms. Haylen, who’d been poring over some newly retrieved schematics, looked up from her station. Her gaze followed Rhys’ stocky form before settling on Olivia with pursed lips.

“Rhys still giving you the cold shoulder?”

“What? No,” Olivia approached Haylen and eyed the schematics. “Our little chats are the highlight of my day.”

“Olivia,” Haylen clicked her tongue.

The blonde stared at Haylen from the corner of her eye for a moment before relenting. “Okay, yes. He is. I thought after days of successful assignments, he’d start to hate me less. At least a little.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” the scribe replied easily. “Rhys bleeds Brotherhood. It’s all he cares about. It’s his family, it’s his whole life. If anything else comes into the picture and gets in the way, he shoves it aside.”

For a moment, something warm, but sad, flickered across Haylen’s eyes as she talked about Rhys. Her tone was soft and affectionate as his name rolled off her tongue, like a woman recalling a fond memory. A click sounded somewhere in the back of her brain and Olivia’s jaw slid open with realization. Of course! Why did it take so long for her to put this together?

“What?” Haylen straightened a bit under Olivia’s brazen gawking. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Olivia leaned in close. “There’s something going on between you two, isn’t there?”

The scribe’s face went lax before a small blush crept across her cheeks. With a huff, she quickly looked away, pretending to study the schematics. “That’s hardly any of your business.”

“Oh my god,” Olivia pointed an accusatory finger. “There is!”

She worriedly looked around the room before smacking Olivia’s finger away. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“If there wasn’t, you wouldn’t be so quick to shut me out.” Olivia felt a teenage-like energy surge through her. “I know that look anywhere.”

“Ugh, okay. It’s just…” she faltered for a moment. “When I first joined up, Rhys is the one who sponsored me. He took me under his wing, showed me the ropes.”

“Is that when it started?”

Olivia was familiar with fraternization between ranks. She’d seen it often enough during her service. While she’d never done so, she’d witnessed many of her fellow soldiers fall victim to it. It was only natural, after all. They spent more time with their unit than their own families. And the fact that they might die at any moment seemed to justify any and each liaison.

“No.” Haylen said sharply. “Nothing ever happened. I thought there was a little more between us, so I asked him if he cared about me that way. He told me the Brotherhood of Steel is all he cared about, and there was no room for anything else in his life.”

Olivia swallowed the lump of regret in her throat, suddenly feeling like an utter twat. “Haylen… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” she replied, visibly wilting. A pensive look chased itself across her face and she shook her head, as if banishing a thought. “Look… I need to get back to things. Unless there was something else that you needed?”

Olivia casually threw a guarded hand over her ghoul bite. “Uh… no, no I don’t. I’ll let you get back to your duties.”

Looks like she’d have to bandage herself up. Olivia tried to shake the heavy feeling of regret as she moved towards the locker room, snagging her pack as she went. Whatever positive mood she’d had was promptly snuffed out by shoving her foot in her mouth. God, what was she thinking? If she wanted her teammates to accept her, isolating and humiliating them with talks of unrequited romance was not the way.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

She pried off her armor and rolled up the sleeve of her jumpsuit, working on her ghoul bite. Or zombie bite. Ghouls were basically zombies, right? It just so happened their circumstances were born from the aftermath of an irradiated war, instead of some mutated virus. Thank god for that, because if they were riddled with a virus, she’d been bitten enough to turn her undead a thousand times over.

Just as she finished irrigating the wound, a shadow darkened the doorway to the room and she froze.

“What are you doing, initiate?”

She knew that voice anywhere. Slowly, hoping he couldn’t see the guilt plastered all over her face, she looked up. Instantly, her mouth went dry.

All shiny and taut muscles, Danse had rolled down his jumpsuit and tied it haphazardly at his waist, leaving him in only a plain t-shirt. The shirt did little to hide anything. It clung to his broad chest and the flat plane of his stomach. He looked like something straight out of a Hunk magazine. What month would Danse be?

Definitely July.

“Uh…” Olivia managed to croak out, a sudden flush tinting her features.

“You wouldn’t be hiding your injuries from Scribe Haylen, would you?”

Damn, he was perceptive. Her skin simmered under his scrutiny. “Are you going to tell on me, Paladin?”

At this, he sighed. “You’re avoiding her.”

“Well,” she paused, grabbing a spool of bandage. “I didn’t feel like getting another lecture.”

A half-truth. That combined with her social misstep was enough to have her hiding from Haylen for the next few hours.

She fumbled with the bandage. It was a lot harder to wrap up a wound one-handed than she anticipated, and Danse’s very obvious stare didn’t help. It unraveled and fell onto her lap for the fifth time when she grumbled an obscenity, holding one end of the fabric between her teeth and the other in her fingers.

Danse stilled her ministrations, prying the piece from her mouth, and took over—much to her chagrin. He had knelt down to her level and the sudden proximity made her uncomfortable. The man was surprisingly gentle with her as his hands toiled away.

“If you had been more careful, she wouldn’t have need to lecture you.” Danse said matter-of-factly. “She only does it out of concern. You should take heed of what your brothers and sisters tell you. You might learn something.”

Objectively, she knew Danse was right. But she couldn’t stop the sour look that befell her.

“I didn’t want a lecture from you, either… sir.”

He stopped working and looked up at her, his face still and serious. A small crease formed between his brows.

“This is an extensive injury. If you want to be a part of the Brotherhood, you need to swallow your pride and let us help you.”

That was not the response towards her insubordination that she was expecting. She looked away sheepishly and he continued wrapping up her arm, tying the ends of the bandage together and tucking them away without disturbing her bite. Almost without hesitation, Danse reached for a tray next to them, turning slightly, before producing a stimpak. He stuck it in the deep blue vein below her elbow and she winced.

“How long will I be doing these assignments for Haylen and Rhys?” She asked.

“However long is necessary,” he grunted as he rose to his feet. He proffered a hand to her and she obliged, her soft skin moving against his calloused palms.

It’d been hard to hide her impatience. While it was comfortable functioning within a small regiment again, she was eager to move forward. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of slinking away for a day or two to convene with Nick. The last time she saw him, he’d mentioned it’d take a few weeks to compile all the evidence and investigate leads. It was difficult to remember exactly how long ago that’d been.

It wasn’t entirely implausible to work two leads at the same time. See what Nick had for her while maintaining her position in the Brotherhood. And there was that settlement she’d completely blown off. Preston wouldn’t be pleased about that. God, there was so much to be done while she was toiling away playing fetch and kill for her superiors.

Danse must’ve seen the gears turning in her mind. “Your thoughts, initiate?”

“Permission for full disclosure, sir?”

A question flickered in his eyes, but he simply shrugged. “Granted.”

“I’m feeling… restless. I’d like to preface this by saying I’m incredibly grateful for what you’ve done for me thus far. You’ve taken me into your fold and afforded me an opportunity of a lifetime. And yet…”

“Continue,” he gestured.

Her lips were dry and she ran her tongue along them. “I haven’t been completely honest with you and I feel like you deserve to hear the truth.”

Danse’s face fell as he stared expectantly. Seeing a wave of disappointment wash over him stirred an odd feeling in her stomach.

“When I told you that I didn’t really have a home, I meant it. But what I didn’t disclose is that I’m from a vault up north. I’ve only been out here, on the surface, for a few months. And I’m not…” she faltered, her voice betraying the flurry of nervousness beneath her skin. “I’m not just out here to survive. I’m looking for someone and I’m worried I’m running out of time.”

“And you feel as though remaining here is time spent wasted?” Danse queried easily, eyes guarded. He completely brushed over her confession of being from a vault, much to her surprise.

Olivia knew it was a trap that he had laid out, a dangerous conversation she’d have to navigate through. Much like a minefield. She had experience with those.

“Not wasted, no. But I do feel like there are some leads I need to pursue and I can’t do those while exterminating ghouls for Rhys and diving into old buildings for Haylen.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched while she talked. “I would like to ask permission for a short leave in order to do so.”

There was a heavy pause while Danse chewed on her words. It was near impossible to read Danse’s face let alone predict what he was going to say.

Finally, he looked up at her. “Denied.”

It took a minute to process what he’d said and she gaped at him. “W-what? Why?”

“We need you here, soldier.”

A swell of desperation surged between he ribs and she inhaled sharply. “And my son is out there, somewhere, and _he_ needs me.”

Her hands flittered to her mouth and she wished she could grab her words out of the air and shove them back in. This was not how she envisioned telling Danse about her predicament. Anxiety nipped at her cheeks and ran down her spine as she stared, feeling the air thicken between them. Danse’s guard broke for a moment and she could see the cracks of his surprise seep through.

“Your son is missing? That’s who you’re looking for?”

Olivia let her gaze drift to the floor, trying hard to control the confusing amass of emotions bubbling within her. This never got easier to talk about. Preston, Nick, and Piper. Each time, she felt the sharp stab of loss. The guilt. The rage. The look of pity in other people’s faces. God, she hated that the most.

“Yes. Someone… someone broke into my vault and stole my son. I don’t know who is responsible or where they took him, but I’m getting closer,” she felt the muscles tighten along her jaw. “I don’t want to abandon my squad but my son takes precedence over everything else.”

“Why didn’t you disclose this from the beginning?” A question so quiet that it stunned her.

“Well, I…” she stumbled. “I thought since it wasn’t relevant to our mission that you wouldn’t care.”

His shoulders relaxed and he stared at a point over her shoulder, his dark eyes thoughtful. Sincere. The rigidity in his posture still lingered but his guarded façade began to slip away.

“I’m your superior, initiate, but I’m not heartless. I am capable of broaching these rather… sensitive issues.”

Something hard lodged itself in the back of her throat and she swallowed around it. “To be fair sir, we barely know one another. It seemed almost inappropriate to dump any of this on to you.”

“A valid assumption, but an assumption nonetheless. As I said, I’m your superior. Anything troubling you in your personal life, you are free to either approach me with or keep to yourself as you see fit. But if it interferes with your ability to perform your duties, it becomes a problem for the both of us.”

Olivia’s eyes traveled the length of her Paladin’s face before giving a curt nod of understanding. A heavy silence fell between the two and she found herself in mute contemplation; wondering exactly how honest she should be with Danse.

She rarely approached her former superiors with personal issues. It was seen as weak to willingly discuss pain and trauma—a flaw in the polished façade of a soldier. Having someone like Danse in command of her team, as well as learning to open up, would take some getting used to.

The man across from her finally broke the silence.

“You have leads.” Not a question, a statement. A clarification.

“There’s this detective in Diamond City that’s been helping me. Last time we met, he said he had to do some research and follow up on suspects. It’s all I have to go on as of now.”

A long breath escaped her superior as he dragged a hand over his eyes, letting his palm rest flat against his mouth, deep in contemplation.

“If I grant you this, how am I to be ensured that you won’t abandon your position entirely?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

Another pause, this one heavier than the last.

“The Prydwen picked up on our distress signal and is sending in reinforcements. Their estimated time of arrival is in seventy-two hours.” The tenseness to his shoulders appeared again. “It is imperative that you report back to me as soon as possible.”

“You’re granting me my leave?” The hope that jolted up her spine was fleeting.

“Affirmative.”

“Danse…” relief flooded through her veins and it took every ounce of restraint to not throw her arms around him in an appreciative hug. “Thank you.”

A heavy hand was placed awkwardly on her shoulder as he looked down at her. “The Brotherhood is here for you, initiate. You’re one of us now and we look after our own. If you require my assistance, all you need is to say the word.”

She was taken aback by his sentiment. Although it was draped in formality and propriety, she could read the soft concern hiding beneath. Tentatively, her hand found his and gave it a grateful squeeze.

“You’re a decent man, Paladin. I have to do this alone, but I appreciate the offer. I’ll set out at oh-six-hundred hours and report back to you within the parameters stated.”

“Understood,” he dropped his hand. “Stay safe out there, soldier.”

And just like that, he turned around and took his leave down the corridor. For a few moments, she followed him, watching his form disappear into the attached garage. The sound of whirring machinery sounded as he returned to his work.

A light dinner was followed by her packing her things. Some ammo was snatched from inventory and she shoved a few rations away, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed by Rhys’ perceptive gaze. Haylen had kept to herself most of the night, which Olivia was thankful for. She’d slip out unnoticed without disclosing where she was going or why. Telling Danse was necessary, she realized. He needed to understand. But the last thing she needed to see was Haylen’s face full of pity and sadness. Or hear Rhys’ snide remarks about her priorities.

In the morning, she’d head to Diamond City and convene with Nick. She just hoped he had information that made this all worth it.

\---

It’d been forty-eight hours.

Two days since Initiate Becker left during the predawn hours, slinking out quietly with her bag and weapons strapped to her back. He’d been on the roof then, having been awake for a few hours already. During those moments, where sleep escaped him, he’d revel in the stillness of the open air. The quiet settled that uneasy feeling in his soul and dulled his ever present exhaustion.

He’d watched her until her silhouette faded into the jagged horizon of the Commonwealth, nerves on edge and ready to fire at any danger that might happen upon her.

A part of him grappled with his decision in letting her go. If she didn’t return, it would reflect badly on him. On his leadership. Half of his squad was already dead and if the one person he’d managed to recruit in the field disappeared? He banished the thought.

The desire to keep his team unified within the compound was strong when she originally approached him. But when he saw the desperation mingled with rage in her deep amber eyes, he’d relented. Danse knew what it was like to lose someone important.

Even more so, he knew how the desire for revenge could destroy a person if it was left to fester for too long. It would linger and rot deep within until a part of oneself was forever ruined. The initiate had far too much potential to succumb to something like that.

This was something she needed to do.

He’d dwelled on what she’d said and he wonder if she intentioned to tell him the details of her loss or if it’d just slipped.

A son taken from her; leaving her home to embark in an unfamiliar climate with no real direction. She hadn’t been forthright with him initially, so she most likely wanted to keep that part of her life private. A wound so deep that it may never completely heal, a wound she didn’t want others to see. Sadness had crept over him after that conversation… rooted somewhere within a part of him he had long since shut out.

Regardless, he was glad she had been honest. It was imperative for an open dialogue to exist between leaders and subordinates.

Danse was sincere in his offer to help. Emotions weren’t his strong point, let alone expressing them, but he hated to see those under his command suffer. And for her to be in prime fighting condition, she needed to confront these issues head on. The Brotherhood would be better served by soldiers with a clear conscience.

And it _would_ be beneficial for the Brotherhood to have her within their ranks.

Although having a penchant for recklessness, the initiate was level-headed in battle and a hell of a shot. Her affinity for combat was natural, like she was born for it.

He wondered what kind of vault she came from, since most dwellers were soft and inexperienced. And most kept their origins a secret out of wariness of being taken advantage of or, worse, being marked as a target. There was a sort of hardness to the way she projected herself, like her demeanor had been honed or molded to fit the life of a solider.

She managed to somehow simultaneously baffle and intrigue him.

Now he sat in the main room of the police station, idly typing away at the console. There were reports he needed to catch up on, as well as updating his Elder on their new initiate. Rhys and Haylen went about their duties wordlessly. He knew they wanted to ask about Becker.

The woman had managed to leave without waking either of them, and they were curious as to her whereabouts. They must’ve sensed his overall frustration with the situation, as neither of them had approached him with inquiries. Even Rhys had managed to bite his tongue, much to Danse’s surprise.

Haylen was at his side, proffering a pack of rations from their supply. “You need to eat.”

Danse halted his typing and looked at the food with disinterest but took it nonetheless. “Thank you, Haylen.”

“Sir,” she said softly, in that warm tone that made Haylen, well, Haylen. “She’ll come back.”

She placed her small hand on his shoulder and he froze, uncomfortable with the sudden contact. After a moment he just shook his head and resumed his work. But the flickering green letters on the screen barely registered in his mind.

“I don’t know the specifics of this situation, but I do know what it means when you get all quiet and busy yourself. You’re worried, I get it.”

“We have a lot to do before the Prydwen arrives.” He tried to deflect but it wasn’t working. It rarely did with Haylen.

“Initiate Becker has a good head on her shoulders,” her hand patted Danse consolingly before letting it drop to her side. “She hasn’t been with us long, but I’m confident in her loyalty.”

“That makes you the only one, Haylen.” It was Rhys, looking up from taking inventory of their ammunition. “She’s long gone. Probably made a tasty lunch for some mutie.”

“Rhys,” Haylen hissed.

“What?” He closed the distance between them, clipboard clenched between his fingers. “Serves her right for up and leaving. She was just another Commonwealth low-life looking for a freebie. Loyalty, my ass.”

“You know that’s not true.” Haylen’s reasoned tone was sharp. “She aided Paladin Danse in ArcJet without expecting compensation. Not only that, but how many locations has she cleared? Or how about all of the tech she’s recovered for us?”

“You’re too trustful, Haylen. We don’t even know her, or where she’s from. So how can you be so confident that she’ll come back?”

“Call it a hunch, I guess. There’s something different about her. I think our superior might agree with that, otherwise he wouldn’t have sponsored her.”

Danse was looking at Haylen now and she pulled her eyes from Rhys, settling them on her superior officer. They traded a look of understanding before she padded off, back to preparing. He was glad to finally head back to the Prydwen, to feel the hum of the ship beneath his boots, but the relief Danse was feeling was muddled with underlying anxiety.

A noise made him pause.

The hinges of the doors to the station creaked, a loud bang reverberating as they slammed against the walls. Rhys, who was against the far end of the room, stopped his ministrations and threw a concerned look to his team, discarding his clipboard in favor for his weapon.

Haylen moved forward a bit, a cautious hand on the laser pistol at her hip. At this, Danse stood abruptly, the chair beneath him scraping along the floorboards with alarm. He signaled to his team to stay put as he grabbed a laser rifle from his desk, taking slow, tentative steps.

He rounded the corner and peered over, a wave of dread crashing into him as he took in the sight.

There, at the bottom of the stairs, was Initiate Becker.

Thick ribbons of blood coated the surface of her armor, the dark material of her jumpsuit wet and glimmering against the fluorescent lights. Pieces of the material were ripped away, exposing parts of her skin that were marred and torn open. Chunks of bone and viscera matted one side of her hair against her head, trails of rust cascading down her face and neck.

Watery, red-rimmed eyes peered up at him from beneath it all. She was trembling, one arm bent and pressed up against the wall for support. With a clang, her sniper rifle fell from her hands and clattered to the floor and she dropped to her knees, bated breaths coming in and out.

Haylen appeared behind him and let out a gasp. “Olivia!”

The scribe was at her side in an instant, concerned hands working along her back and tilting her chin to observe the dried blood. But the initiate never took her gaze off of Danse, tears trailing lines down her cheeks.

“Danse,” she rasped weakly. “I need your help.”

Her eyes fluttered and she started to slump forward with a soft groan. Danse hurried down the stairs and crouched in front of her, holding his arm up as she collapsed against him. He scooped her up, with as much care as he could muster, and carried her towards the back rooms.


End file.
